UC-NRLF 


SB    MDfl    73b 


i\ 


VENISON  STYLES  THE  BEE   HUNTER. 
"  That's  the  ra'al  stuff:  something  'sides  bees'  bread." Page  49. 


PUDDLEFORD, 


AND 


ITS   PEOPLE. 


BY       H.      H.      RILBY 
u 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW-YORK  : 

SAMUEL    HUESTON,    348    BROADWAY. 

1854. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1854,  ty 
SAMUEL     HUESTON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New-York. 


FBINTER  AND  STEREOTYPES. 
95  8s  97  Cliff,  cor.  Franfcfort. 


s 


'M  A  /  A; 


ro  MI 
COUSIN    JAMES 


1III8  WORK  IS 


AFFECTIONATELY      INSCRIBED. 

H.  H.  B. 


8SS307 


PREFACE. 


EYERY  body  who  writes  a  book  is  expected  to  introduce  it  with  a 
preface ;  to  hang  out  a  sign,  the  more  captivating  the  better,  inform 
ing  the  public  what  kind  of  entertainment  may  be  expected  within. 
I  am  very  sorry  that  I  am  obliged  to  say  that  many  a  one  has  been 
wofully  deceived  by  these  outside  proclamations,  and  some  one  may 
be  again. 

I  am  unable  to  apologise  to  the  public  for  inflicting  this  work 
upon  it.  It  was  not  through  "the  entreaty  of  friends"  that  it  was 
written.  It  is  not  the  "  outpourings  of  a  delicate  constitution." 
(I  weigh  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.)  I  was  not  driven  into  it 
"by  a  predestination  to  write,  which  was  beyond  my  control."  It 
is  not  "  offered  for  the  benefit  of  a  few  near  relatives,  who  have 
insisted  upon  seeing  it  in  print,"  nor  do  I  expect  the  public  will 
tolerate  it  simply  out  of  regard  to  my  feelings,  if  their  own  feelings 
are  not  enlisted  in  its  favor. 

The  book  is  filled  with  portraits  of  Puddleford  and  the  Puddle- 
fbrdians.  The  reader  may  never  have  seen  the  portrait  of  a  genuine 
Puddlefordian.  Bless  me,  how  much  that  man  has  lost!  If  the 
reader  does  not  like  the  painting  after  he  has  seen  it,  I  can  not 
help  it ;  it  may  be  the  fault  of  the  original,  or  it  may  be  from  a  want 
of  skill  in  the  painter. 

Like  the  carrier-pigeon,  let  it  go,  to  return  with  glad  tidings,  or 
none  at  all 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I.  Page 

Puddleford  —  Eagle  Tavern  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bulliphant  —  May 
Morning  —  Birds  —  Yenison  Styles — General  Character  of 
Society  —  The  Colonel  —  Yenison  Styles'  Cabin.  .  .  .9 

CHAPTER  II. 

Law-Suit :  Filkins  against  Beadle  —  Squire  Longbow  and  his 
Court  —  Puddleford  Assembled  —  Why  Squire  Longbow  was 
a  Great  Man  —  Ike  Turtle  and  Sile  Bates,  Pettifoggers  —  Mrs. 
Sonora  Brown  —  Uproar  and  Legal  Opinions  —  Seth  Bolles  — 
Miss  Eunice  Grimes  —  Argument  to  Jury,  and  Yerdict, .  .  24 

CHAPTER   III. 

Wanderings  in  the  Wilderness  —  A  Bee-Hunt  —  Sunrise  — The 
Fox-Squirrel  —  The  Blue-Jay  —  The  Gopher  —  The  Par 
tridges  —  Wild  Geese,  Ducks,  and  Cranes  —  Blackbirds  and 
Meadow-Larks  —  Yenison's  Account  of  the  Bees'  Domestic 
Economy  —  How  Yenison  Found  what  he  was  in  Search  of — 
Honey  Secured  —  After-Reflections, 42 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Log-Chapel  —  Father  Beals  —  Aunt  Graves  —  Sister  Abi 
gail  —  Bigelow  Yan  Slyck,  the  Preacher  —  His  Entree  — How 
he  Worked  —  One  of  his  Sermons  —  Performance  of  the 
Choir  —  '  Coronation'  Achieved  —  Getting  into  Position  — 
Personal  Appeals  —  Effect  on  the  Congregation  —  Sabbath 
in  the  Wilderness  —  Is  Bigelow  the  only  Ridiculous  Preacher  ?  53 


VU1  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  V.         ,  Paga 

Indian  Summer  —  Yenison  Styles  again  —  Jim  Buzzard  —  Fish 
ing  Excursion  —  Muskrat  City  —  Indian  Burying-Ground  — 
The  Pickerel  and  the  Rest  of  the  Fishes  —  The  Prairie  — 
Wild  Geese  —  The  Old  Mound — Venison's  Regrets  at  the 
Degenerating  Times — His  Luck  and  Mine  —  Reminiscences 
of  the  Beavers  —  Camping  Out  —  Safe  Return,  .  .61 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Educational  Efforts  —  Squire  Longbow's  « Notis' — The  l  Sater- 
day  Nite' — Ike  and  the  Squire  —  Various  Remarks  to  the 
Point  —  Mrs.  Fizzle  and  the  Temperance  Question  —  Collec 
tion  Taken —  General  Result, 81 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Social  War — Longbow,  Turtle  &  Co.  —  Bird,  Swipes,  Beagle  & 
Co.  —  Mrs.  Bird  — Mrs.  Beagle  —  Mrs.  Swipes— Turkey  and 
Aristocracy  —  Scandal  —  Husking-bees,  and  '  such  like'  — 
The  Calathumpian  Band  —  The  Horse-Fiddle  —  The  Giant 
Trombone  —  The  Gyastacutas  —  Tuning  Up  —  Unparalleled 
Effort  —  Puddleford  still  a  Representative  Place,  ...  89 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Fuddleford  and  Politics — Higgins  against  Wiggins  —  The  Can 
didates'  Personale  —  Their  Platforms  —  Delicate  Questions  — 
Stump-Speaking  —  Wiggins  on  Higgins  —  Impertinent  Inter 
ruptions  —  Higgins  on  Wiggins  —  Ike  Turtle  not  Dead  yet  — 
Commotion  — Squire  Longbow  restores  Order  —  Grand  Stroke 
of  Policy  —  The  Roast  Ox  at  Gillett's  Corners,  ...  98 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Winter  upon  us  —  The  Roosters  in  the  Early  Morning — The 
Blue- Jays  and  the  Squirrels  —  The  Improvident  Turkey  —  The 
Domestic  Hearth,  and  who  occupied  it  —  The  Old  Dog — 
The  Blessed  old  Mail-Horse  —  The  Newspapers  —  Our  Como- 
to-tea  —  Mrs.  Brown,  her  Arrival  and  Experiences  —  Entree 
of  Bird,  Beagles  &  Co.  —  Conflicting  Elements,  and  how  Ike 
Turtle  assimilated  all — Gratifying  Consequences,  .  .110 


CONTENTS.  IX 

CHAPTER  X.  Page 

Mrs.  Longbow  Taken  Sick  —  General  Interest  —  Dr.  Teazle  — 
His  Visit  — '  The  Rattles'  — Scientific  Diagnosis  —  A  Prescrip 
tion—Short  and  Dr.  Dobbs—  'Pantod  of  the  Heart'— Dis 
missal  of  Teazle  —  Installation  of  Dobbs  —  '  Scyller  and  Cha- 
ra&z'des'  —  Ike's  Views  —  The  Colonel's  —  Bates's  —  Mrs. 
Longbow  dies  —  Who  killed  her  ?  —  Conflicting  Opinions  — 
Her  Funeral  —  Bigelow  Van  Slyck's  Sermon  —  Interment,  .  128 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Squire  Longbow  in  mourning  —  The  Great  Question  —  Aunt  So- 
nora's  opinion  —  Other  People's  —  The  Squire  goes  to  Church 

—  His  Appearance  on  that  occasion  —  Aunt  Graves,  and  her 
Extra  Performance  —  '  Nux  Vomica'  —  Anxious  Mothers  — 
Mary  Jane  Arabella  Swipes  —  Sister  Abigail — Ike  Turtle,  and 
his  Designs  —  He  calls  on  Aunt  Graves  —  She  '11  go  it  —  Sister 
Abigail's  objection — The  Squire's  First  Love  Letter  —  The 
Wedding  —  Great  Getting-up  —  Turtle's  Examination  —  The 
Squire  Runs  the  Risk  of '  the  Staterts'  —  Bigelow's  Ceremony 

—  General  Break  Down  —  Not  Very  Drunk.        .         .        .136 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Group  at  '  the  Eagle'  — Entree  of  a  Stranger  —  His  opinion 
of  the  Tavern  —  Bulliphant  wakes  up  —  Can't  Pick  Fowls 
after  Dark—  Sad  Case  of  Mother  Gantlet  and  Dr.  Teazle  —  Mr. 
Farindale  Begins  to  Unbend  —  Whistle  &  Sharp,  and  their  At 
torney  —  Good  Pay  —  Legal  Conversation  —  Going  Sniping  — 
Great  Description  of  the  Animal  —  The  Party  Start  —  Farin 
dale  Holding  the  Bag  —  '  Waiting  for  Snipe'  —  Farindale's 
Solitary  Return  —  His  Interview  with  Whistle  &  Sharp  —  Suing 
a  Puddleford  Firm  —  Relief  Laws  —  Farindale  gets  his  Execu 
tion  —  The  Puddleford  Bank  —  The  Appraisers  —  Proceeds 
of  the  Execution .  .  145 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  '  Fev'  Nag'  —  Conflicting  Theories  — '  Oxergin  and  Hydergin1 

—  Teazle's  Rationale  —  The  Scourge  of  the  West  —  Sile  Bates, 


X  CONTENTS. 

Page 

and  his  Condition  —  Squire  Longbow,  and  Jini  Buzzard  — 
Puddleford  Prostrate  —  Various  Practitioners  —  '  The  Billerous 
Duck'  —  Pioneer  Martyrs  —  "Wave  over  Wave.  .  .  .159 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Uncommonly  Common  Schools  —  Annual  School  District  Meeting 

—  Accounts  for   Contingent   Expenses  —  Turtle,    and  Old 
Gulick's   Boy  — 'That  are  Glass'  — The   Colonel  starts  the 
wheels  again  —  Bulliphant's  Tactics  —  Have  we  hired  '  Dea. 
Fluett's  darter,'  or  not?  — Izabel  Strickett  —  Bunker  Hill  and 
Turkey— Sah- Jane  BeagJes  — The  Question  Settled.    .        .161 

CHAPTER  XY. 

'Abolition'  Meeting  at  Puddleford  —  The  late  Rev.  Mr.  Billet  — 
Longbow,  and  his  Responsibilities  —  Collision  between  Bates 
and  the  Squire  —  The  Log-Chapel  filled  —  Bates'  Opening 
Remarks  —  Turtle's  Interpolations  —  An  Open  Question  — 
Longbow,  to  the  Rescue  !  —  Three  Cheers  —  Appointment  of 
a  President  —  Mr.  Billet  —  His  Philosophy  of  the  Institution  of 
Slavery  —  Turtle  on  Hand  — •  What  would  Billet  Do  ?  —  Reso 
lutions  Offered  by  Sile  Bates  —  Ike's  Amendments  —  Adjourn 
ment  of  the  Meeting,  and  Hegira  of  the  Lecturer.  .  .174 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Some  Account  of  John  Smith  —  Nick-Names  —  Progress  of  the 
Age  —  The  Colonel's  Opinion  of  Science  —  John  Smith's  Dream 

—  Ike  Turtle's  Dream  —  Ike  takes  the  Boots.       .        .        .     187 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Ike  Turtle  in  his  Office  —  The  Author  Consults  him  on  Point  of 
Law  —  Taxes  of  Non-Residents  —  Law  in  Puddleford  —  Mr. 
Bridget's  Case  —  Legal  Discussion  —  The  Case  Settled.  .  202 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Wilderness  around  Puddleford  —  The  Rivers  and  the  Forests 

—  Suggestions  of  Old  Times  —  Foot-prints  of  the  Jesuits  — - 
Vine-covered  Mounds  —  Visit  to  the  Forest  —  Tfye  Early 


CONTENTS.  XI 

Page 

Frost  —  The  Forest  Clock  —  The  Woodland  Harvest  —  The 
Last  Flowers  —  Nature  Sowing  her  Seed  —  The  Squirrel  in  the 
Hickory  —  Pigeons,  their  "Ways  and  their  Haunts  —  The  Butter 
flies  and  the  Bull-frog  —  Nature  and  her  Sermons  —  Her 
Temple  still  Open,  but  the  High-priest  Gone.  .  .  .209 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Old  New-England  Home  — The  Sheltered  Village  —  The 
Ancient  Buildings  —  Dormer-Windows  —  An  Old  Puritanical 
Home  — The  Old  Puritan  Church  — The  Burying-Ground — 
Deacon  Smith,  his  Habits  and  His  Helpers  —  Major  Simeon 
Giles,  his  Mansion  and  his  Ancestry  —  Old  Doctor  Styles  — 
Crapo  Jackson,  the  Sexton  —  '  Training  Days'  —  Militia  Dig 
nitaries  —  Major  Boles  —  Major  General  Peabody  —  Prepara 
tions  and  Achievements  —  Demolition  of  an  Apple-Cart  — 
'  Shoulder  Arms !'  —  Colonel  Asher  Peabody  —  The  Boys,  and 
their  World  —  My  Last  Look  at  my  Native  Village.  .  .  211 

CHAPTER  XX. 

And  still  New-England  —  Sui  Generis— Her  Ruggedness  the  soil 
of  Liberty — The  Contrast  —  The  New-England  Conservative 

—  The  New-England  Man  of  Business  —  The  West  has  no 
Past — Fast,  and  Hospitable  —  Saxon  Blood  and  Saxon  Spirit.  232 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Spring  at  the  West  —  '  Sugar  Days'  —  Performances  of  the  Cattle 

—  April — Advent  of  the  Blue- Jays  and  the  Crows — The 
Blue-birds,  Phebes,  and  Robins  —  April,  and  its  Inspiring  Days 

—  The  Frogs,  and  their  Concerts  —  Gophers,  Squirrels,  Ants ; 
Swallows,  Brown-Threshers,  and  Blackbirds  —  The  Swallows, 

the  Martins,  and  the  Advent  of  May.  .        .        .        .242 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  Railroad  through  Puddleford — Effect  on  Squire  Longbow  — 
Bright  Prospects  of  Puddleford  —  Change  —  '  The  Styleses'  — 
The  New  Justice  —  Aunt  Sonora's  Opinions  —  Ike  Turtle 
grows,  too — Venison  Disappears  from  among  Men — His  Grave, 
and  his  Epitaph, 252 


XU  CONTENTS. 

CONCLUSION.  Page 

The  Philosophy  of  Puddleford —  Diverse  Elements  in  Pioneer 
Life  —  Longbow,  and  his  Administration  —  Not  Expensive  — 
Two  Hundred  a  Tear,  all  told  —  What  would  Chief  Justice 
Marshall  have  Done  as  Justice  at  Puddleford  ?  —  Longbow  a 
Great  Man  —  Fame  and  Politics  —  Ike,  a  Wheel  —  Puddleford 
Theology  —  Camp-Meetings  —  Who  do  Bigolow's  Work  Better 
than  Bigelow?  —  Great  Happiness,  and  Few  Nerves  —  No 
'  Society'  —  No  Fashion  in  Clothes,  or  any  thing  Else  — 
Bull's-Eye  and  Pinchbeck  —  The  Great  Trade  did  n't  '  Come 
off'  —  Abounding  Charity  and  Hospitality —  Pilgrim  Blood  — 
Longbow's  —  Planting  the  Mud- Sills  —  Old  Associations,  how 
Controlling !  —  Good-Bye,  Reader.  .  256 


iu% 


CHAPTER  I. 

Puddleford — Eagle  Tavern — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bulliphant  —  May  Moru- 
ning  —  Birds  —  Venison  Styles  —  General  Character  of  Society  — 
The  Colonel  —  Yenison  Styles'  Cabin. 

THE  township  of  PUDDLEFORD  was  located  in  the  far  west, 
and  was,  and  is  unknown,  I  presume,  to  a  large  portion  of 
my  readers.  It  has  never  been  considered  of  sufficient  im 
portance  by  atlas- makers  to  be  designated  by  them ;  and 
yet  men,  women,  and  children  live  and  die  in  Puddleford. 
Its  population  helps  make  up  the  census  of  the  United 
States  every  ten  years ;  it  helps  make  governors,  congress 
men,  presidents.  Puddleford  does,  and  fails  to  do,  a  great 
many  things,  just  like  the  '  rest  of  mankind,'  and  yet,  who 
knows  and  cares  anything  about  Puddleford  ? 

Puddleford  was  well  enough  as  a  township  of  land,  and 
beautiful  was  its  scenery.  It  was  spotted  with  bright,  clear 
lakes,  reflecting  the  trees  that  stooped  over  them ;  and 
straight  through  its  centre  flowed  a  majestic  river,  guarded 
by  hills  on  either  side.  The  village  of  Puddleford  (there 
was  a  village  of  Puddleford,  too)  stood  huddled  in  a  gorge 
1* 


10  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

that  opened  up  from  the  river ;  and  through  it,  day  and 
night,  a  little  brook  ran  tinkling  along,  making  music  around 
the  *  settlement.'-,  The  houses'  ia  Puddleford  were  very  shabby 
indeed  ;  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  make  that  fact 
public,  but  'th'ey^ve'ro  Very'sirabby,  '  'Some  were  built  of  logs, 
and  some  of  boards,  and  some  were  never  exactly  built  at 
all,  but  came  together  through  a  combination  of  circum 
stances  which  the  '  oldest  inhabitant '  has  never  been  able  to 
explain.  The  log-houses  were  just  like  log-houses  in  every 
place  else ;  for  no  person  has  yet  been  found  with  impudence 
enough  to  suggest  an  improvement.  A  pile  of  logs,  laid  up 
and  packed  in  mud  ;  a  mammoth  fire-place,  with  a  chimney- 
throat  as  large  ;  a  lower  story  and  a  garret,  connected  in  one 
corner  by  a  ladder,  called  '  Jacob's  ladder,'  are  its  essentials. 
A  few  very  ambitious  persons  in  Puddleford  had,  it  is  true, 
attempted  to  build  frame-houses,  but  there  was  never  one 
entirely  finished  yet.  Some  of  them  had  erected  a  frame 
only,  when,  their  purses  having  failed,  the  enterprise  was  left 
at  the  mercy  of  the  storms.  Others  had  covered  their  frames  ; 
and  one  citizen,  old  Squire  Longbow,  had  actually  finished 
off  two  rooms  ;  and  this,  in  connection  with  the  office  of  just 
ice  of  the  peace,  gave  him  a  standing  and  influence  in  the 
settlement  almost  omnipotent. 

The  reader  discovers,  of  course,  that  Puddleford  was  a  very 
miscellaneous-looking  place.  It  appeared  unfinished,  and 
ever  likely  to  be.  It  did  really  seem  that  the  houses,  and 
cabins,  and  sheds,  and  pig-sties,  had  been  sown  up  and  down 
the  gorge,  as  their  owners  sowed  wheat.  The  only  harmony 
about  the  place  was  the  harmony  of  confusion. 

Puddleford  had  a  population  made  up  of  all  sorts  of  peo 
ple,  who  had  been,  from  a  variety  of  causes,  thrown  together 
just  there ;  and  every  person  owned  a  number  of  dogs,  so 
that  it  was  very  difficult  to  determine  which  were  numeri- 


THE    PUDDLEFORD    PUBLIC-HOUSE.  11 

cally  the  strongest,  the  inhabitants  or  the  dogs.  There  were 
great  droves  of  cows  owned,  too,  which  were  in  the  habit  of 
congregating  every  morning,  and  marching  some  miles  to  a 
distant  marsh  to  feed  to  the  jingle  of  the  bells  they  wore 
on  their  necks. 

There  was  one  public-house  at  Puddleford.  It  was  built 
of  logs,  with  a  long  stoop  running  along  its  whole  front,  sup 
ported  by  trunks  of  trees  roughly  cut  from  the  woods,  and 
bark  and  knots  were  preserved  in  the  full  strength  and  sim 
plicity  of  nature.  Its  bar-room  was  the  resort  of  all  the 
leading  men  of  Puddleford,  besides  several  rago-ed  boys  and 
these  self-same  dogs.  It  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  village, 
and  announced  itself  to  the  public  through  a  sign,  upon 
which  were  painted  a  cock  crowing  and  a  spread  eagle.  The 
bar  was  fenced  off  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  was  sup 
plied  with  three  bottles  of  whiskey,  called,  according  to  their 
color,  brandy,  rum,  and  gin ;  but  fly-tracks  and  dust  had  so 
completely  covered  them,  that  the  kind  of  liquor  was  deter 
mined  by  the  pledge  of  the  landlord,  that  always  passed  cur 
rent.  There  were  also  about  a  dozen  mouldy  crackers  laid 
away  on  the  shelf  in  a  discarded  cigar-box,  intended  more 
particularly  for  the  travelling  public.  The  walls  of  the  bar 
room  were  illuminated  by  a  large  menagerie  advertisement, 
which  was  the  only  real  display  of  the  fine  arts  that  ever 
entered  the  place.  Upon  a  table,  near  the  centre  of  the 
room,  stood  a  backgammon  and  checker-board,  which  were 
in  use  from  the  rising  sun  to  midnight.  Pipes,  crusted  thick 
with  soot,  lay  scattered  about  on  the  window-stools  and  chim 
ney-shelf —  old  stubs  that  had  seen  service  —  and  all  over 
the  floor  rolled  great  quids  of  tobacco,  ancient  and  modern, 
the  creatures  of  yesterday  and  years  ago ;  for  the  floor  of  the 
4  Eagle  Tavern' — such  it  was  called  —  of  Puddleford,  was  never 
profaned  by  a  broom,  nor  its  windows  with  water.  He  who 


12  PUDDDEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

attempted  to  look  out,  would  have  supposed  there  was  an 
eternal  fog  in  the  streets. 

The  ladies'  parlor,  belonging  to  the  Eagle  Tavern  of  Pud- 
dleford,  was  a  very  choice  spot,  and  had  been  fitted  up  with 
out  regard  to  expense.  Its  floor  was  covered  with  a  faded 
rag-carpet,  and  its  walls  were  enlivened  with  a  shilling  print, 
showing  forth  Noah's  Ark,  and  the  animals  entering  therein. 
Any  person  who  had  an  eye  for  the  practical,  could  see  just 
how  Noah  loaded  his  craft,  as  the  picture  brought  out  clearly 
a  long  plank  thrown  ashore,  up  which  the  animals  were 
climbing.  I  have  often  thought  that  I  never  saw  it  rain  so 
tremendously  as  it  did  in  that  picture.  Near  by,  hung  a  six 
penny  likeness  of  Washington,  somewhat  defaced,  as  some 
irreverent  Puddleford  boy  had  run  his  ringer  through  the 
old  General's  eye,  which  detracted  very  much  from  the  dig 
nity  of  his  expression.  He  looked  rather  funny  with  one  eye 
cocked ;  and  he  felt,  I  presume  —  that  is,  if  pictures  can  feel 
— just  as  funny  as  he  looked. 

One  advantage  which  the  lodging-rooms  of  this  tavern 
possessed  ought  not  to  be  overlooked.  They  were  lit  up  by 
the  everlasting  stars,  and  the  tired  traveller  could  go  to  sleep 
by  the  dancing  rays  that  shot  clown  through  the  crevices  of 
the  roof  above. 

'  Old  Stub  Bulliphant,'  as  he  was  called,  was,  and  had 
been  for  years,  landlord  of  the  '  Eagle.'  He  was  about  five 
feet  high,  and  nearly  as  many  in  circumference.  His  eyes 
were  of  no  particular  color,  although  they  were  once.  His 
eye-lashes  had  been  scorched  off  by  alcoholic  fire ;  and  na 
ture,  to  keep  up  appearances,  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  substi 
tuted  in  their  stead  a  binding  of  red,  which  looked  like  two 
little  rainbows  hanging  upon  a  storm,  for  a  rheumy  water 
was  continually  running  between  them.  His  nose  was  very 
red,  and  his  face  was  always  in  blossom,  winter  and  summer. 


THE   FIRST   IMPRESSION.  13 

A  pair  of  tow  breeches  and  a  red  flannel  shirt  composed  his 
wardrobe  two  thirds  of  the  year.  The  truth  is,  the  old  fel 
low  drank,  and  always  drank,  and  he  became,  finally,  pre 
served  in  spirits. 

Puddleford  was  not  destitute  of  a  church,  not  by  any 
means.  The  '  log-chapel,'  when  I  first  became  acquainted 
with  the  place,  was  an  ancient  building.  It  was  erected  at 
a  period  almost  as  early  as  the  tavern  —  not  quite  —  tempo 
ral  wants  pressing  the  early  settlers  closer  than  spiritual. 

This,  precious  reader,  is  a  skeleton  view  of  Puddleford,  as 
it  existed  when  I  first  knew  it.  Just  out  of  this  village, 
some  time  during  the  last  ten  years,  I  took  possession  of  a 
large  tract  of  land,  called  'burr-oak  opening,'  that  is,  a  wide, 
sweeping  plain,  thinly  clad  with  burr-oaks.  Few  sights  in 
nature  are  more  beautiful.  The  eye  roams  over  these  parks 
unobstructed  by  undergrowth,  the  trees  above,  and  the  sleep 
ing  shadows  on  the  grass  below. 

The  first  time  I  looked  upon  this  future  home  of  mine,  it 
lay  calm  and  bright,  bathed  in  the  warm  sun  of  a  May  morn 
ing,  and  filled  with  birds.  The  buds  were  just  breaking  into 
leaf,  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  the  wild-wood  fragrance  of 
spring.  Piles  of  mosses,  soft  as  velvet,  were  scattered  about. 
Wild  violets,  grouped  in  clusters,  the  white  and  red  lupin, 
the  mountain  pink,  and  thousands  of  other  tiny  flowers, 
bright  as  sparks  of  fire,  mingled  in  confusion.  It  was  alive 
with  birds:  the  brown  thrasher,  the  robin,  the  blue  jay 
poured  forth  their  music  to  the  very  top  of  their  lungs.  The 
thrasher,  with  his  brown  dress  and  very  quizzical  look,  abso 
lutely  revelled  in  a  luxury  of  melody.  He  mocked  all  the 
birds  about  him.  Now  he  was  as  good  a  blue-jay  as  blue- 
jay  himself,  and  screamed  as  loud ;  but  suddenly  bouncing 
around  on  a  limb,  and  slowly  stretching  out  his  wings,  he 
died  away  in  a  most  pathetic  strain ;  then,  darting  into 


14 


PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 


another  tree,  and  turning  his  saucy  eye  inquisitively  down, 
he  rattled  off  a  chorus  or  two,  that  I  might  know  he  was 
not  so  sad  a  fellow  after  all.  Now,  his  soft,  flute-like  notes 
fairly  melted  in  his  throat;  then  he  drew  out  a  long,  violin 
strain  the  whole  length  of  his  bow;  then  a  blast  on  his 
trumpet  roused  all  the  birds.  He  was  '  everything  by  turns, 
and  nothing  long.'  After  completing  his  performance,  away 
he  went,  and  his  place,  in  a  moment  almost,  was  occupied 
by  another,  repeating  the  medley,  for  the  whole  wood  was 
alive  with  them. 

Scores  of  blue-jays,  in  the  tops  of  the  trees,  were  picking 
away  at  the  tender  buds.  The  robin,  that  household  bird, 
first  loved  by  our  children,  was  also  here.  Sitting  alone  and 
apart,  in  a  reverie,  and  blowing  occasionally  his  mellow  pipe, 
he  seemed  to  exist  only  for  his  own  comfort,  and  to  forget  that 
he  was  one  of  the  choristers  of  the  wood.  Woodpeckers 
were  flitting  hither  and  thither ;  troops  of  quails  whistled  in 
the  distance ;  the  oriole  streamed  out  his  bright  light  through 
the  green  branches;  there  was  a  winnowing  of  wings,  a 
dashing  of  leaves,  as  birds  came  rushing  in  and  out.  It  was 
their  festival. 

This  scene  was  heightened  by  the  appearance  of  a  hunter. 

He  was  a  noble  specimen  of  the  physical  man.  Tall,  brawny 

a  giant  in  strength  —  his  form  loomed  up  in  the  distance. 
He  was  attired  with  a  red  flannel  'wamus,'  a  leathern  belt 
girt  around  his  waist,  deer-skin  leggins  and  moccasins,  and  a 
white  felt  hat  that  run  up  to  a  peak.  His  rifle  and  shot- 
pouch  were  slung  around  him,  and  a  few  fox-squirrels  hung 
dangling  on  his  belt.  His  whole  figure  exhibited  a  harmony 
of  proportion,  a  majesty  of  combination,  sometimes  seen  in 
Roman  statues.  As  I  approached  him,  his  face  fairly  beamed 
with  rustic  intelligence  and  good  nature,  and  the  old  man 
grasped  me  by  the  hand,  and  shook  it  as  heartily  as  if  he  had 
known  me  a  thousand  years. 


VENISON   STYLES.  15 

"So,  you  are  the  person,'  said  Venison  Styles,  for  such  I 
afterward  learned  was  the  name  he  went  by,  in  the  neigh 
borhood  — '  So,  you  are  the  person  that 's  come  in  here  to 
settle,  I  s  'pose'  —  to  cut  down  the  trees  and  plough  up  this 
ere  ground.'  I  told  him  I  was.  'Well,'  said  he,  'so  it  goes ; 
I  have  moved  and  moved,  and  I  can 't  keep  out  of  the  way 
Df  these  ploughs  and  axes.  It  was  just  as  much  as  the  deer, 
And  beaver,  and  otter,  could  do,  to  stand  them  govern 
ment  surveyors  that  went  tramping  around  among 'em,  just 
AS  though  they  were  going  to  be  sold  out  wher-or-no.  And 
ihen,'  continued  Styles,  growing  warmer,  '  they  tried  to  form 
a  thing  they  called  a  school  cfc-strict  about  my  ears ;  and  then 
came  a  church,  and  they  put  a  little  bell  on  it,  and  that  scart 
out  the  game.  Game  can 't  stand  church-bells,  stranger,  they 
can  't ;  they  clears  right  out.' 

I  tried  to  soothe  the  old  man's  feelings,  and  among  other 
things,  advised  him  to  give  up  his  hunting  and  fishing,  and 
settle  down,  and  till  the  soil  for  a  living. 

4  What  in  airth  does  any  body  want  to  till  the  soil,  for?' 
replied  Styles.  'What  does  the  soil  want  tilling  for? 
Warn 't  the  airth  made  right,  in  the  first  place  ?  The  woods 
were  filled  with  beast  and  bird,  warn 't  they  ?  and  the  whole 
face  of  natur  covered  with  grass  and  wild  fruits  ?  and  streams 
and  lakes  were  scattered  every  where  ?  Ain  't  there  enough 
to  eat,  and  drink,  and  wear,  growing  nat'ral  in  the  woods; 
and  what  else  does  any  body  want,  stranger  ? ' 

'  Yes,  but  you  are  growing  old,  and  your  sight  is  dim,  my 
friend,'  said  I. 

'Old!  dim !  eyes  bad!  no!  no!  Venison  Styles  is  good 
for  twenty  years  yet.  I  do  n't  take  physic.  There  ain't  no 
more  use  of  taking  such  stuff,  than  there  is  of  giving  it  to  my 
dogs.  '  Taint  natural  to  take  it,  not  no  how.  All  a  man 
wants  in  sickness  is  a  little  saxafax-tea,  or  something  warmin' 


16  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

of  that  sort.  Children  are  all  spi'lt  now-a-days.  Their 
heads  and  inards  are  crammed  with  physic  and  laming,  and 
they  ain  't  good  for  nothing.  For  my  part,  I  hate  physic, 
books,  newspapers,  and  even  the  mail-carrier.  None  of  my 
folks  were  troubled  with  laming ;  for,  as  near  as  I  can  tell, 
the  old  man  (his  father)  died  hunting  game  and  furs  down 
on  the  '  Hios,  when  it '  twas  all  woods  there,  and  I  never 
know  'd  of  his  writing  or  reading  any.' 

1  Well,  Venison,'  said  I,  '  how  long  have  you  been  around 
in  these  parts  ? ' 

*  Not  mor-nor  four  or  five  years,  or  so  about,'  answered 
Styles.  *  The  game  and  I  have  kept  running  westard  and 
westard,  from  civilization,  as  they  call  it,  till  I  have  travel 
led  nigh  on  a  thousand  miles,  or  so.  I  used  to  hunt  and 
trap  way  down  on  Erie,  before  them  steamboats  came  a-snort- 
ing  up,  but  when  they  came,  they  scart  all  the  deer  and 
every  thing  out  of  the  woods  and  streams ;  and  then  I  left? 
too.  This  rifle,'  continued  Styles,  '  this  rifle  has  been  along 
with  me  for  forty  years.  I  have  eat  and  slept  with  it.  I  have- 
worn  out  mor-nor  twenty  dogs  —  fairly  worn  '  em  out,  and 
buried  every  one  with  a  tear;  and  bym-bye  old  Venison 
himself  will  go,  but  he  is  good  on  the  track  yet.' 

I  assented  to  much  that  was  said  by  old  Styles,  and  grow 
ing  warmer  the  more  interest  I  took  in  him,  he  rattled  on 
about  civilization  —  its  effects,  &c.,  &c. ;  and,  finally,  looking 
into  a  tree,  where  a  cluster  of  spring  birds  were  singing,  he 
turned  to  me,  and  pointing  upward  —  *  Do  you  hear  that  ? 
he  exclaimed ;  '  that  music  was  made  when  the  world  was  — 
them  throat's  warn 't  tuned  by  any  singing-master ;  they 
always  keep  in  order.  If  men  would  only  jist  let  natur  alone, 
we  could  get  along  well  enough.  'Taint  right  to  make  any 
additions  to  natur.  'Taint  right  to  invent  music,  nor  to  mock 
the  birds,  nor  cut  down  the  woods,  nor  dam  up  the  streams. 


WHY    I    CAME    TO    PUDDLEFORD.  17 

It 's  all  agin  natur,  the  whole  on 't.  The  birds  ca  n't  be  im 
proved  on,  and  the  streams  and  woods  belong  to  the  fish  and 
game.  They  are  their  houses  as  much  as  my  Ijpuse  is  my 
house.  '  I  always  hated  a  saw-mill,'  continued  Styles ;  '  its  very 
sound  makes  me  mad.  I  never  know'd  a  deer  to  stay  within 
hearing  of  one.  They  roar  away  just  as  though  they  were 
going  to  tear  down  the  whole  forest,  and  pile  it  up  into 
boards.  I  always  try  to  keep  out  of  their  way.'  But  I  cannot 
give  all  the  conversation  of  this  eccentric  genius  of  the  forest, 
with  me.  He  was  one  of  a  class  of  men  who  are  hurried 
along  by  immigration,  like  clouds  before  the  tempest.  When 
the  rays  of  improvement  warmed  Styles4  he  had  pushed 
farther  back  into  the  shade.  He  was  a  connecting  link 
between  barbarism  and  civilization.  One  half  of  him  was 
lit  up  with  the  light  of  the  sturdy  pioneers,  who  crowded  in 
upon  him  from  the  East,  and  the  other  half  stood  dark  and 
gloomy  in  savage  solemnity.  With  all  his  antipathy  to  the 
society  of  the  whites,  he  was  their  staunch  friend,  and  in 
many  ways,  was  of  great  service.  He  became,  as  we  shall 
see,  one  of  my  pleasantest  companions,  and  I  cannot  help 
now  declaring,  that  few  men  have  taken  such  strong  hold 
upon  my  affections  as  this  same  Venison  Styles. 

The  old  man  shouldered  his  rifle,  and  inviting  me  to  '  drop 
into  his  cabin,  up  the  creek,'  bid  me  *  good  morning,  stran 
ger.' 

Reader,  such  was  the  scene  presented  to  my  eye  the  day 
I  first  looked  upon  the  piece  of  wild  land  upon  which  I 
finally  settled  and  improved.  I  had  just  arrived  from  an 
Eastern  village,  where  I  was  born,  and  *  brought  up,'  as  the 
phrase  is.  A  somewhat  broken  fortune,  and  breaking  health 
had  driven  me  from  it,  with  a  moderate  family,  to  seek  a  spot 
elsewhere ;  and  I  resolved  to  try  the  Great  West,  that  para 
dise  (if  the  word  of  people  who  never  saw  it,  is  to  be  taken) 


18  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

where  the  surplus  population  of  a  portion  of  the  world  have 
found  a  home. 

The  change  was  great.  But  great  as  it  was,  I  resolved  to 
endure  it.  So,  at  it  I  went.  I  procured  '  help,'  girdled  the 
trees,  put  a  breaking  team  of  twelve  yoke  of  cattle  on  the 
ground,  tore  it  up,  fenced  the  land,  raised  a  log-house,  and  in 
the  fall  I  had  a  crop  of  wheat  growing,  the  withered  oak- 
trees  standing  guard  over  it.  My  family,  consisting  of  a  wife 
and  three  children,  a  boy  of  eight,  and  two  girls  of  twelve 
and  ten,  were  removed  to  their  new  quarters,  and  I  had  thus 
fairly  begun  the  world  again,  and  all  things  were  as  new 
about  me  as  if  I  had  just  been  born  into  it. 

During  the  summer,  I  had  an  opportunity  of  studying  the 
general  character  of  the  inhabitants  of  Puddleford,  and  its 
surrounding  country  population.  Like  most  western  settle 
ments,  it  was  made  up  of  all  kinds  of  materials,  all  sorts  of 
folks,  holding  every  opinion.  More  than  a  dozen  States  had 
contributed  to  make  up  its  people.  Society  was  ex 
ceedingly  miscellaneous.  The  keen  Yankee,  the  obstinate* 
Pennsylvanian,  and  the  reckless  Southerner  were  there. 
Each  one  of  these  persons  had  brought  along  with  him  his 
early  habits,  and  associations  —  his  own  views  of  business 
law,  and  religion.  When  thrown  together  on  public  ques 
tions,  this  composition  boiled  up  like  a  mixture  of  salts  and 
soda.  Factions,  of  course,  were  formed  among  those,  whose 
early  education  and  habits  were  congenial ;  divisions  were 
created,  and  a  war  of  prejudice  and  opinion  went  on  from 
month  to  month,  and  year  to  year.  The  New-England  Yan 
kee  stood  about  ten  years  ahead  of  the  Pennsylvania  Ger 
man,  in  all  his  ideas  of  progress,  while  the  latter  stood  back, 
dogged  and  sullen,  attached  to  the  customs  of  his  fathers. 
Another  general  feature  consisted  in  this,  that  there  was  no 
permanency  to  society.  The  inhabitants  were  constantly 


THE    POPULATION    OF    PUDDLEFORD.  19 

changing,  pouring  out  and  in,  like  the  waters  of  a  river ;  so 
that  a  complete  revolution  took  place  every  four  or  five  years. 
Every  body  who  remained  in  Puddleford  expected  to  remove 
some  where  else  very  soon.  They  were  merely  sojourners, 
not  residents.  There  was  no  attachment  to,  or  veneration 
for,  the  past  of  Puddleford,  because  Puddleford  had  no  past. 
The  ties  of  memory  reached  to  older  States.  There  stood 
the  church  that  sheltered  the  infant  years  of  Puddleford's 
population,  and  there  swung  the  bell  that  tolled  their  fathers 
and  fathers'  fathers  to  the  tomb.  There  was  the  long  line  of 
graves,  runing  back  a  hundred  years,  where  the  sister  of  yes 
terday,  and  the  ancestor  whose  virtues  were  only  known 
throuo-h  tradition,  were  buried.  There  tottered  the  old 

o 

homestead  which  had  passed  through  the  family  for  genera 
tions,  filled  with  heir-looms  that  had  become  sacred.  The 
school-house  was  there,  where  the  village  boys  shouted 
together.  Looking  back  from  a  new  country,  where  all  is 
confusion,  to  an  old  one,  where  figures  have  the  stability  of 
a  painting,  objects  which  were  once  trivial  start  out  upon  the 
canvass  in  bolder  relief.  The  venerable,  gray-headed  pastor, 
who  appeared  regularly  in  the  village  pulpit,  for  half  a 
century,  to  impart  the  word  of  life,  rises  in  the  memory,  and 
stands  fixed  there,  like  a  statue.  The  quaint  cut  of  his  coat, 
the  neat  tie  of  hh  neck-cloth, -the  spectacles  resting  on  the 
tip  of  his  nose,  his  hums  and  haws,  his  eye  of  reproof,  his 
gestures  of  vengeance,  are  now  living  things  —  are  preach, 
ing  still.  We  see  again  the  changing  crowd,  that  year  after 
year,  went  in  and  out  of  that  holy  place ;  the  spot  where 
the  old  deacon  sat,  his  head  resting  on  a  pillar,  his  tranquil 
face  turned  upward,  his  mouth  open,  enjoying  a  doze  as  he 
listened  to  the  sermon:  We  recollect  the  gay  bridal,  the 
solemn  funeral,  the  buoyant  face  of  the  one,  the  still  cold  one 
of  the  other.  We  even  remember  the  lame  old  sexton,  who 


20  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

rang  the  bell,  and  went  limping-  up  to  the  burying  ground, 
with  a  spade  upon  his  shoulder.  Even  he,  of  no  consequence 
when  seen  every  day,  is  transformed  by  distance,  and  mel 
lowed  by  memory  into  a  real  being.  And  then  there  are  the 
hills  and  streams,  and  waterfalls,  that  shed  their  music  through 
our  boyish  souls,  until  they  became  a  part  of  our  very  exist 
ence.  No  man  ever  lived  who  entirely  forgot  these  things, 
suppressed  though  they  might  be,  by  the  cares  and  anxieties 
of  maturer  years.  And  no  circumstance  so  likely  to  bring 
them  all  up,  glowing  afresh,  as  a  removal  to  a  new  country. 
Of  course,  no  one  was  attached  to  Puddleford,  as  a  locality, 
any  more  than  the  wandering  Arab  is  attached  to  the  par 
ticular  spot  where^he  pitches  his  tent  and  feeds  his  camels. 

Another  general  feature  seemed  to  be  the  strange  charac 
ter  of  a  large  part  of  the  population.  Puddleford  was  filled 
with  bankrupts,  who  had  fled  from  their  eastern  creditors, 
anxious  for  peace  of  mind  and  bread  enough  to  eat.  Like 
decayed  vessels,  that  had  been  tempest-tossed  and  finally 
condemned,  these  hulks  seemed  to  be  lying  up  in  ordinary 
in  the  wilderness.  Puddleford  was  to  that  class  a  kind  of 
hospital.  This  man,  upon  inquiry,  I  found  had  rolled  in 
luxury,  but  a  turn  in  flour  one  day  blew  him  sky-high. 
Another  failed  on  a  land  speculation.  Another  bought  more 
goods  than  he  paid  for.  Another  had  been  mixed  up  in  a 
fraud.  Another  had  been  actually  guilty  of  crime.  The 
farming  community  were  generally  free  from  these  charges ; 
but  Puddleford  proper  was  not. 

The  *  Colonel,'  as  we  called  him,  was  a  fair  specimen  of 
the  bankrupt  class.  He  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  beings 
who  was  well  enough  started  in  the  world ;  but  after  having 
been  tossed  and  buffeted  around  by  his  own  extravagance, 
he  was  finally  driven  into  the  forest.  He  was  educated,  po 
lished,  proud,  and  poor.  He  had  sunk  two  or  three  fortunes, 


THE    COLONEL.  21 

earned  by  somebody  else,  chasing  pleasure  around  the  world. 
His  reputation  having  become  soiled,  and  his  pockets  emp 
tied,  he  concluded,  to  use  his  own  language,  to  *  hide  him 
self  from  his  enemies  and  die  a  kind  of  civil  death.'  '  Men,' 
said  the  Colonel,  *  are  naturally  robbers,  and  it  is  safer  to  rim 
than  fight  with  them.'  I  have  heard  him  declare,  in  a  jo 
cose  way,  that  he  was  the  most ' injured  man  living;  for  the 
whole  human  family,'  he  said, '  set  to  and  picked  his  pockets, 
and  now  the  public  ought  to  support  him.'  He  said,  'he 
could  n't  see  why  the  government  did  n't  pass  laws  for  the 
relief  of  cases  like  his ;  for  a  government  is  good  for  nothing 
that  fails  to  support  its  people.  Starvation  in  a  republic 
would  be  a  disgrace,  and  ought  not  to  be  permitted.'  The 
Colonel  said  '  there  was  no  use  in  fighting  destiny  —  no  one 
man  can  do  it  —  and  it  was  his  destiny  to  be  poor.'  He  said 
he  '  had  no  place  to  remove  to,  and  that  he  could  n't  get 
there  if  he  had ;'  that  he  was  '  like  an  old  pump  that  needs 
a  pail  of  "water  thrown  in  every  time  it  is  used  to  set  it 
a-going.' 

The  Colonel  resided  in  the  village  of  Puddleford.  His  fami 
ly  was  composed  of  a  wife  and  two  daughters,  a  couple  of 
dashing  girls,  who  looked  like  birds  of  fine  plumage  that  had 
been  driven  by  a  storm  beyond  their  latitude.  His  house 
hold  furniture  was  made  up  of  the  fag-ends  of  this  and 
that,  which  had  somehow  escaped  a  half-a-dozen  sheriff's 
sales.  His  family  wardrobe  had  been  rescued  in  the  same 
.  way,  and  contained  all  the  fashions  of  the  last  twenty-five 
years.  Here  and  there  were  scattered  some  plain  articles  of 
western  manufacture,  by  way  of  contrast.  Three-shilling 
chairs  stood  on  a  faded  Brussels  carpet ;  an  unpainted  white- 
wood  table  supported  a  silver  tea-set :  thus,  the  faded  splen 
dor  of  the  past  contrasted  with  the  rustic  simplicity  of  the 
present.  One  thing  I  must  not  overlook  :  the  Colonel  had 


22  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

an  old  tattered  carriage  that  had  followed  him  through  good 
and  evil  report,  his  ups  and  downs  of  life.  I  have  often  been 
amused  to  see  it  roll  along  with  a  melancholy  air  of  superi 
ority,  putting  on  the  face  of  a  good  man  in  affliction.  It. 
was  drawn  by  two  diminutive  Indian  ponies,  who  would  turn 
and  look  wildly  at  the  antiquated  thing,  as  if  apprehensive 
of  danger. 

The  Colonel  kept  an  office,  and  pretended  to  act  as  a  kind 
of  land-agent,  and  agent  for  insurance  companies,  and  so  on. 
He  was  never  known  to  pay  a  debt ;  it  being  against  his 
principles,  as  he  used  to  say :  besides,  he  said,  '  his  note 
would  last  a  man  ten  times  as  long  as  the  money ;  and  they 
were  not  very  uncurrent  neither ;  for  the  justice  of  the  peace 
at  Puddleford  had  taken  a  very  great  many  of  them,  and 
passed  his  judgment  upon  them  for  their  full  face.' 

But  I  will  not  go  into  particulars  with  the  Puddlefordians 
at  present.  During  the  summer  my  acquaintance  with 
Venison  Styles  had  ripened  into  a  deeper  affection  for  the 
old  hunter.  I  accepted  his  invitation  to  visit  him,  and  found 
him  sheltered  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  and  nestled  in  a 
valley,  his  hut  overshadowed  by  great  trees,  which  were 
filled  with  birds  pouring  forth  their  songs.  A  little  brook 
tinkled  down  the  slope  by  his  hut,  singing  all  kinds  of  wood 
land  tunes,  as  the  breeze  swelled  and  died  along  its  banks. 
The  squirrels  were  chatting  their  nonsense,  and  the  rolling 
drum  of  the  partridge  was  heard  almost  at  his  very  door. 

Venison  ,was  a  hunter,  a  fisher,  and  a  trapper.  The  inside 
walls  of  his  cabin  were  hung  about  with  rifles,  shot-guns, 
and  fishing-rods,  which  had  been  accumulating  for  years. 
Deer-horns  and  skins  lay  scattered  here  and  there,  the  tro 
phies  of  the  chase.  Seines  for  lakes,  and  scoop-nets  for 
smaller  streams,  were  drying  outside  upon  the  trees, 

Venison   kept   around  him  a  brood  of  lazy,  lounging, 


VENISON'S  BOYS.  23 

good-for-nothing  boys,  of  all  ages,  about  half-clothed,  who 
followed  the  business  of  their  father.  This  young  stock  were 
growing  up  as  he  had  grown,  to  occupy  somewhere  their 
father's  position,  and  lead  his  life.  They  lived  just  as  well 
as  the  hounds,  for  all  stood  on  an  equality  in  the  family. 
These  ragamuffins  were  perfect  masters  of  natural  history. 
There  was  not  an  instinct  or  peculiarity  belonging  to  the 
denizens  of  the  woods  and  streams  which  they  did  not  per 
fectly  understand.  They  seemed  to  have  penetrated  the  se 
crecy  of  animal  life,  and  fathomed  it  throughout.  Birds,  and 
beasts,  and  fish  were  completely  within  their  power ;  and 
there  was  a  kind  of  matter-of-course  success  with  them  in 
their  capture  that  was  absolutely  provoking  to  a  civilized 
hunter. 


24  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  II. 
* 

Law-suit :  Filkins  against  Beadle  —  Squire  Longbow  and  his  Court 
—  Puddleford  assembled  —  Why  Squire  Longbow  was  a  Great 
Man  —  Ike  Turtle  and  Sile  Bates,  Pettifoggers  —  Mrs.  Sonora 
Brown  —  Uproar  and  Legal  Opinions — Seth  Bolles  —  Miss  Eunice 
Grimes — Argument  to  Jury,  and  Verdict. 

MY  intercourse  with  the  inhabitants  of  Puddleford  had 
bee$  frequent  during  the  summer,  and  my  acquaintance  with 
them  had  now  become  quite  general.  One  morning,  in  the 
month  of  September,  I  was  visited  by  a  constable,  who  very 
authoritatively  served  upon  me  a  venire,  which  commanded 
me  to  be  and  appear  before  Jonathan  Longbow,  at  his  office 
in  the  village  of  Puddleford,  at  one  o'clock  P.  M.,  to  serve 
as  a  juryman  in  a  case  then  and  there  to  be  tried,  between 
Philista  Filkins,  plaintiff,  and  Charity  Beadle,  defendant,  in 
an  action  of  slander,  etc.  The  constable  remarked,  after  read' 
ing  this  threatening  legal  epistle  to  me,  that  I  had  better '  be 
up  to  time,  as  Squire  Longbow  was  a  man  who  would  not 
be  trifled  with,'  and  then  leisurely  folding  it  up,  and  pushing 
it  deep  down  in  his  vest-pocket,  he  mounted  his  horse,  and 
hurried  away  in  pursuit  of  the  balance  of  the  panel.  Of 
course,  I  could  not  think  of  being  guilty  of  a  contempt  of 
court,  after  having  been  so  solemnly  warned  of  the  conse 
quences,  and  I  was  therefore  promptly  on  the  spot  according 
to  command. 

Squire  Longbow  held  his  court  at  the  public-house,  in  a 
room  adjoining  the  bar-room,  because  the  statute  prohibited 
his  holding  it  in  the  bar-room  itself.  He  was  a  law-abiding 


THE    GREAT    LAW-SUIT.  25 

man,  and  would  not  violate  a  statute.  I  found  on  my  ar 
rival  that  the  whole  country,  for  miles  around,  had  assembled 
to  hear  this  interesting  case.  Men,  women,  and  children 
had  turned  out,  and  made  a  perfect  holiday  of  it.  All  were 
attired  in  their  best.  The  men  were  dressed  in  every  kind 
of  fashion,  or,  rather,  all  the  fashions  of  the  last  twenty  years 
were  scattered  through  the  crowd.  Small-crown,  steeple- 
crown,  low-crown,  wide-brim,  and  narrow-brim  hats ;  wide- 
tail,  stub-tail,  and  swallow-tail,  high-collar,  and  low-collar 
coats ;  bagging  and  shrunken  breeches  ;  every  size  and  shape 
of  shirt-collar  were  there,  all  brought  in  by  the  settlers  when 
they  immigrated.  The  women  had  attempted  to  ape  the 
fashions  of  the  past.  Some  of  them  had  mounted  a  '  bustle ' 
about  the  size  of  a  bag  of  bran,  and  were  waddling  along 
under  their  load  with  great  satisfaction.  Some  of  the  less 
ambitious  were  reduced  to  a  mere  bunch  of  calico.  One 
man,  I  noticed,  carried  upon  his  head  an  old-fashioned,  bell- 
crowned  hat,  with  a  half-inch  brim,  a  shirt-collar  running  up 
tight  under  his  ears,  tight  enough  to  lift  him  from  the 
ground,  (this  ran  out  in  front  of  his  face  to  a  peak,  serving 
as  a  kind  of  cutwater  to  his  nose,)  a  faded  blue  coat  of  the 
genuine  swallow-tail  breed,  a  pair  of  narrow-fall  breeches 
that  had  passed  so  often  through  the  wash-tub,  and  were  so 
shrunken,  that  they  appeared  to  have  been  strained  on  over 
his  limbs :  this  individual,  reader,  was  walking  about,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  perfectly  satisfied,  whistling  Yankee 
Doodle  and  other  patriotic  airs.  Most  of  the  women  had 
something  frizzled  around  their  shoes,  which  were  called  pan 
talettes,  giving  their  extremities  the  appearance  of  the  legs 
of  so  many  bantam  hens. 

The  men  were  amusing  themselves  pitching  coppers  and 
quoits,  running  horses,  and  betting  upon  the  result  of  the 


26  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

trial  to  come  off,  as  every  one  was  expected  to  form  some 
opinion  of  the  merits  of  the  case. 

The  landlord  of  the  Eagle  was  of  course  very  busy.  He 
bustled  about,  here  and  there,  making  the  necessary  prepara 
tions.  Several  pigs  and  chickens  had  gone  the  way  of  all 
flesh,  and  were  baking  and  stewing  for  the  table.  About 
once  a  quarter  '  Old  Stub  '  '  moistened  his  clay,'  as  he  called 
it,  with  a  little  'rye,'  so  as  to  'keep  his  blood  a-stirring.'  Mrs. 
*  Stub  Bulliphant '  was  busy  too.  She  was  a  perfect  whirl 
wind  ;  her  temper  was  made  of  tartaric  acid. .  Her  voice 
might  be  heard  above  the  confusion  around,  giving  direc 
tions  to  one,  and  a  '  piece  of  her  mind  '  to  another.  She  was 
the  landlady  of  the  Eagle  beyond  all  doubt,  and  rio  one  else. 
Better  die  than  doubt  that. 

1  Bulliphant !'  screamed  she,  at  the  top  of  her  lungs,  'Bul 
liphant,  you  great  lout,  you !  what  in  the  name  of  massy- 
sakes  are  you  about  1  No  fire !  no  wood !  no  water  in  ! 
How,  in  all  created  natur,  do  you  s'pose  a  woman  can  get 
dinner  ?  Furiation  alive,  why  do  n't  you  speak  ?  Sally  Ann ! 
I  say,  Sally  Ann!  come  right  here  this  minute  !  Go  down 
cellar,  and  get  a  junk  of  butter,  some  milk,  and  then  —  I 
say,  Sally  Ann  !  do  you  hear  me,  Sally  Ann  ?  —  go  out  to 
the  barn  and  —  run  !  run  !  you  careless  hussy,  to  the  store  ! 
the  pot's  boiling  over  ! ' 

And  so  the  old  woman's  tongue  ran  on  hour  after  hour. 

At  a  little  past  one,  the  court  was  convened.  A  board 
placed  upon  two  barrels  across  the  corner  of  the  room,  con 
stituted  the  desk  of  Squire  Longbow,  behind  which  his  ho 
nor's  solitary  dignity  was  caged.  Pettifoggers  and  spectators 
sat  outside.  This  was  very  proper,  as  Squire  Longbow  was 
a  great  man,  and  some  mark  of  distinction  was  due.  Per 
mit  me  to  describe  him.  He  was  a  little,  pot-bellied  person, 


SQUIRE    LONGBOW.  27 

with  a  round  face,  bald  head,  swelled  nose,  and  had  only  one 
eye,  the  remains  of  the  other  being  concealed  with  a  green 
shade.  He  carried  a  dignity  about  him  that  was  really  op 
pressive  to  by-standers.  He  was  the  '  end  of  the  law '  in 
Paddleford;  and  no  man  could  sustain  a  reputation  who 
presumed  to  appeal  from  his  decisions.  He  settled  accounts, 
difficulties  of  all  sorts,  and  even  established  land-titles ;  but 
of  all  things,  he  prided  himself  upon  his  knowledge  of  con 
stitutional  questions.  The  Squire  always  maintained  that 
hard-drinking  was  '  agin '  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  *  and  so,'  he  said,  '  Judge  Story  once  informed  him 
by  letter,  when  he  applied  to  him  for  aid  in  solving  this 
question.'  *'  There  is  no  such  thing  as  slander,'  the  Squire 
used  to  say,  '  and  so  he  had  always  decided,  as  every  person 
who  lied  about  another,  knew  he  ought  not  to  be  believed, 
because  he  was  lying,  and  therefore  the  *  quar-animerj  as  the 
books  say,  is  wanting.'  •  (This  looked  rather  bad  for  *  Fil- 
kinV  case.)  Sometimes  Squire  Longbow  rendered  judg 
ments,  sometimes  decrees,  and  sometimes  he  divided  the 
cause  between  both  parties.  The  Squire  said  he  'never 
could  submit  to  the  letter  of  the  law  ;  it  was  agin'  personal 
liberty  ;  and  so  Judge  Story  decided.'  '  Pre-ce-dents,  as  they 
were  called,  he  Avould  n't  mind,  not  even  his  own ;  because 
then  there  would  n't  be  any  room  left  for  a  man  to  change 
his  mind.  If,'  said  the  Squire, '  for  instance,  I  fine  Pet.  Sykes 
to-day,  for  knocking  down  Job  Bluff,  that  is  no  reason  why 
I  should  fine  Job  Bluff  to-morrow  for  knocking  down  Pet. 
Sykes,  because  they  are  entirely  different  persons.  Human 
natur'  ain't  the  same.'  '  Contempt  of  Court,'  the  Squire 
often  declared,  '  was  the  worst  of  all  offences.  He  did  n't 
care  so  much  about  what  might  be  said  agin'  Jonathan  Long 
bow,  but  Squire  Longbow,  Justice  of  the  Peace,  must  and 
should  be  protected ; '  and  it  was  upon  this  principle  that 


28  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

he  fined  Phil.  Beardsley  ten  dollars  for  contradicting  him  in 
the  street. 

'  Generally,'  the  Squire  says,  *  he  renders  judgment  for 
the  plaintiff,'  because  he  never  issues  a  process  without  hear 
ing  liis  story,  and  determining  the  merits.  'And  do  n't  the 
plaintiff  know  more  about  his  rights  than  all  the  witnesses 
in  the  world  ? '  'And  even  where  he  has  a  jury,'  the  Squire 
says,  '  that  it  is  his  duty  to  apply  the  law  to  the  facts,  and 
the  facts  to  the  law,  so  that  they  may  avoid  any  illegal 
verdict.' 

The  Court,  as  I  said,  was  convened.  The  Squire  took  his 
seat,  opened  his  docket,  and  lit  his  pipe.  He  then  called  the 
parties : 

'  Philista  Filkins ! '  '  Charity  Beadle ! ' 

•  '  Here,'-  cried  a  back-woods  pettifogger,  *  I  'm  for  Philista 
Filkins ;  am  always  on  hand  at  the  tap  of  the  drum,  like  a 
thousand  of  brick.' 

This  man  was  a  character;  a  pure  specimen  of  a  live  west 
ern  pettifogger.  He  was  called  Ike  Turtle.  He  was  of  the 
snapping-turtle  breed.  He  wore  a  white  wool-hat;  a  ban 
dana  cotton-handkerchief  around  his  neck ;  a  horse-blanket 
vest,  with  large  horn-buttons ;  and  corduroy  pantaloons ;  and 
he  carried  a  bull's-eye  watch,  from  which  swung  four  or  five 
chains  across  his  breast. 

'  Who  answers  for  Chanty  Beadle  ? '  continued  the  Squire. 
'  I  answer  for  myself,'  squeaked  out  Charity  ;  '  I  hain't  got 
any  counsel,  'cause  he  's  on  the  jury.' 

'  On  the  jury,  ha  !     Your  counsel 's  on  the  jury  !     Sila 
Bates,  I  suppose.     Counsel  is  guaranteed  by  the  Constitution 
—  it's  a  personal  right  —  let  Sile  act  as  your  counsel,  then. 
And  so  Sile  stepped  out  in  the  capacity  of  counsel. 
'Charity  Beadle  !'  exclaimed  the  Squire,  drawing  out  his 
pipe  and  laying  it  on  his  desk,  *  stand  up  and  raise  your  right 
hand ! ' 


FILKINS   V.    BEADLE.  29 

Charity  arose. 

*  You  are  charged  with  slandering  Philista  Filkins,  with 
saying  '  She  warn't  no  better  than  she  ought  to  be ; '  and  if 
you  were  believed  when  you  said  so,  it  is  my  duty,  as  a  peace- 
officer,  to  say  to  you  that  you  have  been  guilty  of  a  high  of 
fence,  and  may  the  LORD  have  mercy  on  your  soul.     What 
do  you  say  ?  ' 

*  Not  guilty,  Squire  Longbow,  by  an  eternal  sight,  and 
told  the  truth,  if  we  are,'  replied  Bates.     '  Beside,  we  plead 
a  set-off.' 

4 1  say  't  is  false !  you  are ! '  cried  Philista,  at  the  top  of 
her  lungs. 

'Silence!'  roared  Longbow:  'the  dignity  of  this  court 
shall  be  preserved.' 

*  Easy,  Squire,  a  little  easy,'  grumbled  a  voice  in  the  crowd, 
proceeding  from  one  of  Philista's  friends ;  '  never  speak  to  a 
woman  in  a  passion.' 

'  I  fine  that  man  one  dollar  for  contempt  of  court,  whoever 
he  is  ! '  exclaimed  the  Squire,  as  he  stood  upon  tip-toe,  trying 
to  catch  the  offender  with  his  eye. 

'  I  guess  't  warn't  nothing  but  the  wind,'  said  Bates. 

The  Squire  took  his  seat,  put  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
blew  out  a  long  whiff  of  smoke. 

'  Order  being  restored,  let  the  case  now  proceed,'  he  ex 
claimed. 

Ike  opened  his  case  to  the  jury.  He  said  Philista  Filkins 
was  a  maiden  lady  of  about  forty ;  some  called  her  an  old 
maid,  but  that  warn't  so,  not  by  several  years ;  her  teeth 
were  as  sound  as  a  nut,  and  her  hair  as  black  as  a  crow. 
She  was  a  nurse,  and  had  probably  given  more  lobelia,  pen 
nyroyal,  catnip,  and  other  roots  and  herbs,  to  the  people  of 
Puddleford,  than  all  the  rest  of  the  women  in  it.  Of  course 
she  was  a  kind  of  peramrulary  being.  (The  Squire  here  in- 


30  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS   PEOPLE. 

formed  the  jury  that  peramrulary  was  a  legal  word,  which 
he  would  fully  explain  in  his  charge.)  That  is,  she  was 
obliged  to  be  out  a  great  deal,  night  and  day,  and  in  conse 
quence  thereof,  Charity  Beadle  had  slandered  her,  and  com 
pletely  ruined  her  reputation,  and  broken  up  her  business  to 
the  damage  of  ten  dollars. 

Bates  told  the  Court  that  he  had  *  no  jurisdiction  in  an 
action  of  slander.' 

Longbow  advised  Bates  not  to  repeat  the  remark,  as  '  that 
was  a  kind  of  contempt.' 

Some  time  had  elapsed  in  settling  preliminaries,  and  at  last 
the  cause  was  ready. 

'  We  call  Sonora  Brown !  *  roared  out  Ike,  at  the  top  of 
his  lungs. 

'  No,  you  do  n't,'  replied  the  Squire.  '  This  Court  is  ad 
journed  for  fifteen  minutes ;  all  who  need  refreshment  will 
find  it  at  the  bar  in  the  next  room;  but  do  n't  bring  it  in 
here ;  it  might  be  agin'  the  statute.' 

And  so  the  Court  adjourned  for  fifteen  minutes. 

There  was  a  rush  to  the  bar-room,  and  old  Stub  Bulli- 
phant  rolled  around  among  his  whiskey-bottles  like  a  ship 
in  a  storm.  Almost  every  person  drank  some,  judging  from 
the  remarks,  '  to  wet  their  whistle ;'  others,  '  to  keep  their 
stomach  easy ; '  some  *  to  Filkins ; '  others  '  to  Beadle,'  etc., 
etc. 

Court  was  at  last  convened  again. 

*  Sonora  Brown  ! '  roared  Ike  again. 

'  Object ! '  exclaimed  Sile ;  *  no  witness ;  hain't  lived  six 
months  in  the  State.' 

Squire  Longbow  slowly  drew  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor  fn  deep  thought  for  several  minutes : 

'  Hain't  lived  six  months  in  the  State,'  repeated  he,  at  last; 
*  ain't  no  resident,  of  course,  under  our  Constitution.' 


SILE    BATES.  31 

'And  how,  in  all  created  airth,  would  you  punish  such  a 
person  for  perjury  ?  I  should  just  like  to  know,'  continued 
Sile,  taking  courage  from  the  Squire's  perplexed  state  of 
mind ;  '  our  laws  do  n't  bind  residents  of  other  States.' 

'  But  it  is  n't  certain  Mrs.  Brown  will  lie,  because  she  is  a 
non-resident,'  added  the  Squire,  cheering  up  a  little. 

'  Well !  very  well,  then,'  said  Sile,  ramming  both  hands 
into  his  breeches-pockets  very  philosophically ;  '  go  ahead, 
if  you  wish,  subject  to  my  objection.  I  '11  just  appeal,  and 
blow  this  Court  into  fiddle-strings  !  This  cause  won't  breathe 
three  times  in  the  Circuit!  We  won't  be  rode  over;  we 
know  our  rights,  I  just  kirulec  rather  think.' 

'  Go  it,  Sile ! '  cried  a  voice  from  the  crowd;  '  stand  up  to 
your  rights,  if  you  bust ! ' 

'  Silence  ! '  exclaimed  Squire  Longbow. 

Ike  had  sat  very  quietly,  inasmuch  as  the  Squire  had  been 
leanino-  in  his  favor  ;  but  Sile's  last  remark  somewhat  intimi- 

O 

dated  his  honor. 

'May  it  please  your  honor,' said  Ike,  rising ;  'we  claim 
that  there  is  no  proof  of  Mrs.  Brown's  residency  ;  your  honor 
hain't  got  nothing  but  Sile  Bates's  say  so,  and  what 's  that 
good  for  in  a  court  of  justice  ?  I  would  n't  believe  him  as 
far  as  you  could  swing  a  cat  by  the  tail.* 

'I'm  with  you  on  that,'  cried  another  voice. 

'  Silence  !  put  that  man  out ! '  roared  Longbow  again. 

But  just  as  Ike  was  sitting  down,  an  ink-stand  was  hurled 
at  him  by  Sile,  which  struck  him  on  his  shoulder,  and  scat 
tered  its  contents  over  the  crowd.  Several  missiles  flew 
back  and  forth ;  the  Squire  leaped  over  his  table,  crying  out 
at  the  top  of  his  lungs  : 

'  In  the  name  of  the  people  of  the  State  of ,1,  Jonathan 

Longbow,  Justice  of  the  Peace,  duly  elected  and  qualified,  do 
command  you. 


32  PUDDLEFORD  AND  TTS  PEOPLE. 

When,  at  last,  order  was  restored,  the  counsel  took  their 
seats,  and  the  Squire  retired  into  his  box  again. 

Sonora  Brown  was  then  called  for  the  third  time.  She 
was  an  old  lady,  with  a  pinched-up  black  bonnet,  a  very 
wide  ruffle  to  her  cap,  through  which  the  gray  hairs  strayed. 
She  sighed  frequently  and  heavily.  She  said  she  didn't 
know  as  she  knew  *  any  thing  worth  telling  on.'  She  did  n't 
know  '  any  thing  about  law-suits,  and  did  n't  know  how  to 
swear.'  After  running  on  with  a  long  preliminary  about  her 
self,  growing  warmer  and  warmer,  the  old  lady  came  to  the 
case  under  much  excitement.  She  said  '  she  never  did  see 
such  works  in  all  her  born  days.'  Just  because  Charity  Bea 
dle  s?.id  *  Philista  Filkins  warnt  no  better  than  she  ought  to 
be,'  thft'ie  was  such  a  hullabalu  and  kick-up,  enough  to  set 
all  nattf/'  crazy !' 

'  Wny  la !  sus  me  ! '  continued  she,  turning  round  to  the 
Squire,  '  do  you  think  this  such  a  dre'ful  thing,  that  all  the 
whole  town  has  got  to  be  set  together  by  the  ears  about  it  ? 
Mucle-ra-tion  !  what  a  hum-drum  and  flurry ! ' 

And  then  the  old  lady  stopped  and-  took  a  pinch  of  snuf?  i 
and  pushed  it  up  very  hard  and  quick  into  her  nose. 

Ike  requested  Mrs.  Brown  not  to  talk  so  fast,  and  onlj 
answer  such  questions  as  he  put  to  her. 

'  Well,  now,  that 's  nice,'  she  continued.  '  Warn't  I  sworn 
or  was  't  you  ?  and  to  tell  the  truth,  too,  and  the  ivhole  truth* 
I  warn't  sworn  to  answer  your  questions.  Why,  may-be  you 
do  n't  know,  Mr.  Pettifogger,  that  there  are  folks  in  State's- 
prison  now  for  lying  in  a  Court  of  Justice?' 

Squire  Longbow  interfered,  and  stated  that '  he  must  say 
that  things  were  going  on  very  ( promis'cusly,'  quite  agin'  the 
peace  and  dignity  of  the  State.' 

'Jest  so  I  think  myself,'  added  Mrs.  Brown.  'This  place 
is  like  a  town- meeting,  for  all  the  world.' 


THE   JUSTICE'S  COURT  OF   PUDIJLKKOKI). 

The  testimony  of  Sonora  Brown,  the  witness  who  "  didn't  know  tiny  lliinjr  worth  tellii.' 
an.l  wlio  "  varn't  used  to  law  suits,  and  did'nt  know  liow  to  swear.". . .  -Page  V2. 


IKE    TURTLE.  33 

*  Mrs.  So-wo-ra  Brown ! '  exclaimed  Ike,  rising  on  his  feet, 
a  little  enraged,  *  do  you  know  any  thing  about  what  Charity 
Beadle  said  about  Philista  Filkins  ?  Answer  this  question.' 

'Whew!  fiddle-de-dee!  highty-tighty !  so  you  have  really 
broke  loose,  Mr.  Pettifogger,'  for  now  the  old  lady's  temper 
was  up.  '  Why,  did  n't  you  know  I  was  old  enough  to  be 
your  grandmother  ?  Why,  rny  boy,'  continued  she,  hurry 
ing  on  her  spectacles,  and  taking  a  long  look  at  Ike,  'I 
know'd  your  mother  when  she  made  cakes  and  pies  down  in 
the  c/arseys ;  and  you  when  you  warn't  more  than  so  high ; ' 
and  she  measured  about  two  feet  high  from  the  floor.  'You 
want  me  to  answer,  do  you  ?  I  told  you  all  I  know'd  about 
it ;  and  if  you  want  any  thing  more,  I  guess  you  '11  have  to 
get  it,  that  Js  all ; '  and,  jumping  up,  she  left  the  witness- 
stand,  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

'  I  demand  an  attachment  for  Sonora  Brown  ! '  roared  out 
lice,  '  an  absconding  witness ! ' 

'  Can't  do  it,'  replied  the  Squire  ;  'it 's  agin'  the  Constitu 
tion  to  deprive  any  body  of  their  liberty  an  unreasonable 
length  of  time.  This  witness  has  now  been  confine4  here 
by  process  of  law  morn-a-nour.  Can't  do  it !  Be  guilty  of 
trespass !  Must  stick  to  the  Constitution.  Call  your  next 
witness.' 

Ike  swore.  The  Squire  fined  him  one  dollar.  He  swore 
again.  The  Squire  fined  him  another.  The  faster  the  Squire 
fined,  the  faster  the  oaths  rolled  out  of  Ike's  mouth,  until  the 
Squire  had  entered  ten  dollars  against  him.  Ike  swore 
again,  and  the  Squire  was  about  to  record  the  eleventh  dol 
lar,  but  Ike  checked  him. 

'  Hold  on !  hold  on !  you  old  reprobate !  now  I  've  got 
you  !  now  you  are  mine ! '  exclaimed  he.  '  You  are  up  to 
the  limit  of  the  law !  You  cannot  inflict  only  ten  dollars  in 
fines  in  any  one  case !  Now  stand  and  take  it ! ' 

2* 


34  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

And  such  a  volley  of  oaths,  cant  phrases,  humor,  wrath, 
sarcasm,  and  fun,  sometimes  addressed  to  the  Squire,  some 
times  to  the  audience,  and  sometimes  to  his  client,  never 
rolled  out  of  any  other  man's  mouth  since  the  flood.  He 
commenced  with  the  history  of  the  Squire,  when,  as  he  said, 
'he  was  a  rafting  lumber  down  on  the  SusqueAarmas ;  '  and 
he  followed  him  up  from  that  time.  *  He  could  tell  the  rea 
son  why  he  came  west,  but  would  n't.'  He  commented  on 
his  personal  appearance,  and  his  capacity  for  the  office  of 
Justice.  He  told  him  '  he  had  n't  only  one  eye,  any  way, 
and  he  could  n't  be  expected  to  see  a  great  way  into  a  mill 
stone  ;  and  he  did  n't  believe  he  had  as  many  brains  as  an 
'ister.  For  his  part,  he  knew  the  law ;  he  had  ransacked 
every  part  of  the  statute,  as  a  glutton  would  Noah's  Ark  for 
the  remnant  of  an  eel ;  he  had  digested  it  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
sheba ;  swallowed  every  thing  but  the  title-page  and  cover, 
and  would  have  swallowed  that  if  he  warn't  mortal ;  he  was 
a  living,  moving  law  himself;  when  he  said  'law  was  law, 
'T  WAS  law ; '  better  'peal  any  thing  up  from  predestination 
than  from  his  opinion  !  he  would  follow  this  case  to  the  back 
side  of  sun-down  for  his  rights.' 

During  all  this  time,  there  was  a  complete  uproar.  Phi- 
lista's  friends  cheered  and  hurrahed ;  the  dogs  in  the  room 
set  up  their  barking ;  Beadle's  friends  groaned,  and  squealed, 
and  bellowed,  and  whimpered,  and  imitated  all  the  domestic 
animals  of  the  day,  while  the  Squire  was  trying  at  the  top 
of  his  lungs  to  compel  the  constable  to  commit  Ike  for  con 
tempt. 

Ike  closed  and  sat  down.  The  Squire  called  for  the  con 
stable,  but  he  was  not  to  be  found.  One  man  told  him  that 
'  he  was  in  the  next  room  pitching  coppers  ; '  another,  that 
the  last  time  he  saw  him  *  he  was  running  very  fast ; '  anoth 
er,  that  '  he  rather  guessed  he  'd  be  back  some  time  another, 


SETII    BOLLES.  35 

if  he  ever  was,  because  he  was  a  sworn  officer ; '  another 
nsked  the  Squire  '  what  he'd  give  to  have  him  catched?"* 
but  no  constable  appeared  ;  he  had  put  himself  out  the  way 
to  escape  the  storm. 

A  long  silence  followed  this  outburst;  not  a  word  was 
said,  and  scarcely  a  noise  heard.  Every  one  was  eagerly 
looking  at  the  Squire  for  his  next  movement.  Ike  kept  his 
eyes  on  the  floor,  apparently  in  a  deep  study.  At  last  he 
arose : 

'  Squire,'  said  he,  '  we  ve  been  under  something  of  a  press 
of  steam  for  the  last  half  'our :  I  move  we  adjourn  fifteen 
minutes  for  a  drink.' 

'  Done,'  answered  the  Squire ;  and  so  the  Court  adjourned 
for  a  second  time. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark,  when  the  Court  convened  again. 
The  trial  of  the  cause,  Filkins  vs.  Beadle,  was  resumed. 

Seth  Bolles  was  called.  Seth  was  a  broad-backed,  double- 
fisted  fellow,  with  a  blazing  red  face,  and  he  chewed  tobacco 
continually.  He  was  about  two-thirds  '  over  the  bay,'  and 
did  n't  care  for  all  the  Filkinses  or  Beadles  in  the  world. 

'  Know  Filkins  and  Beadle  ? '  inquired  Ike. 

*  Know  'em  ?  thunder,  yes.' 
'  How  long  ? ' 

*  Ever  sin'  the  year  one.' 

'  Ever  heard  Beadle  say  any  thing  about  Filkins  ? ' 
'  Heard  her  say  she  thought  she  run'd  too  much  arter  Elik 
Timberlake.' 

'  Any  thing,  Seth,  about  Filkins'  character  ? ' 
'  Now  what  do  you  'spose  I  know  about  Filkins'  charac 
ter  ?     Much  as  I  can  do  to  look  arter  my  own  wimrnin.' 

'  But  have  you  heard  Beadle  say  any  thing  about  Filkins' 
character  ? ' 

'  Heard  her  say  once  she  was  a  good  enough- er-sort-a  body 
when  she  was  a-mind-er-be.' 


36  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

'  Any  thing  else  ? ' 

*'  Shan't  answer ;  hain't  had  my  regular  fees  paid  as  wit 
ness.' 

Squire  Longbow  informed  Seth  that  he  must  answer. 
'  Shan't  do  it,  not  so  long  as  my  name  is  Bolles.' 
The  Squire  said  he  would  commit  him. 

*  W-h-e-w ! '  drawled  out  Bolles,  stooping  down,  and  put 
ting  his  arms  a-kimbo,  as  he  gave  the  Squire  a  long  look 
straight  in  the  eye. 

'  Order !  order !  exclaimed  the  Squire. 

'  Whew !  whew !  whew  wo-wo-uo  !  who  's  afraid  of  a  Just 
ice  of  the  Peace  ? '  screamed  Seth,  jumping  up  about  a  foot, 
and  squirting  out  a  gill  of  tobacco-juice,  as  he  struck  the  floor 

Seth's  fees  were  paid  him,  at  last,  and  the  question  was 
again  put,  if  he  heard  ' Beadle  say  any  thing  else?'  and  he 
said  lHe  never  did  ; '  and  thus  ended  Seth's  testimony. 

Miss  Eunice  Grimes  was  next  called.  She  came  sailing 
forward,  and  threw  herself  into  the  chair  with  a  kind  of  jerk« 
She  took  a  few  side-long  glances  at  Charity  Beadle,  which 
told,  plainly  enough,  that  she  meant  to  make  a  finish  of  her 
in  about  five  minutes.  She  was  a  vinegar-faced  old  rnaid, 
and  her  head  kept  bobbing,  and  her  body  kept  hitching,  and 
now  she  pulled  her  bonnet  this  way,  and  now  that.  She 
finally  went  out  of  the  fretting  into  the  languishing  mood, 
and  declared  she  '  should  die  if  some  body  did  n't  get  her  a 
glass  of  water.* 

When  she  became  composed,  Ike  inquired  if  *  she  knew 
Charity  Beadle  ? ' 

*  Yes !  I  know  her  to  be  an  orful  critter ! ' 
4  What  has  she  done  ? ' 

4  What  hain't  she  2  She 's  lied  about  me,  and  about  El 
der  Dobbin's  folks,  and  said  how  that  when  the  singing- 
master  boarded  at  our  house,  she  seed  lights  in  the  sitting- 
room  till  past  three  —  the  orful  critter ! ' 


EUNICE    GRIMES.  37 

*  But  what  have  you  heard  her  say  about  Philista  Filkins  ? ' 

*  Oh  !  every  thing  that 's  bad.     She  do  n't  never  say  any 
thing   that 's  good  'bout   no  body.     She  's  allers  talking. 
There  ain't  no  body  in  the  settlement  she  hain't  slandered. 
She  even  abused  old  Deacon  Snipes'  horse  —  the  orful  crit 
ter  ! ' 

'But  what  did  she  say  about  Philista  FUJcins?"1  repeated 
Ike  again. 

*  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  she  said  ?     I  hain't  got  any 
doubt  she 's  called  her  every  thing  she  could  think  on.  Did  n't 
she,  Philisty  ? '  she  continued,  turning  her  head  toward  the 
plaintiff. 

Philista  nodded. 

'  Did  she  say  she  warn't  no  better  than  she  ought  to  be  ? ' 
'  Did  she  ?  well,  she  did,  and  that  very  few  people  were.' 
4 Stop  !  stop  ! '  exclaimed  Ike,  'you  talk  too  fast !    I  guess 
she  did  n't  say  all  that.' 

*  She  did,  for  Philista  told  me  so ;  and  she  would  n't  lie  for 
the  whole  race  of  Beadles.' 

Squire  Longbow  thought  Eunice  had  better  retire,  as  she 
did  n't  seem  to  know  much  about  the  case. 

She  said  she  knew  as  much  about  it  as  any  body;  she 
wan't '  going  to  be  abused,  trod  upon ;  and  no  man  was  a 
man  that  would  insult  a  poor  woman ; '  and  bursting  into 
tears  of  rage,  she  twitched  out  of  her  chair,  and  went  sobbing 
away. 

Philista  closed,  and  Sile  stated,  in  his  opening  to  the  Court 
on  the  part  of  the  defense,  that  this  was  a  '  little  the  smallest 
case  he  ever  had  seen.'  His  client  stood  out  high  and  dry ; 
she  stood  up  like  Andes  looking  down  on  a  potato-hill ;  he 
did  n't  propose  to  offer  scarcely  any  proof;  and  that  little 
was  by  way  of  set-off — tongue  against  tongue  —  according 
to  the  statute  in  such  case  made  and  provided ;  he  hoped  the 


38  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

Court  would  examine  the  law  for  himself.  (Here  Sile  un 
rolled  a  long  account  against  Philista,  measuring  some  three 
feet,  and  held  it  up  to  the  Squire  and  jury.)  This,  he  said, 
was  a  reg'lar  statement  of  the  slanderous  words  used  by  Phi 
lista  Filkins  agin'  Charity  Beadle  for  the  last  three  years, 
with  the  damage  annexed ;  every  thing  had  been  itemized, 
and  kept  in  tip-top  style;  all  in  black  and  white,  just  as  it 
happened.  Sile  was  about  reading  this  formidable  instru 
ment,  when  Ike  objected. 

'  That  can't  be  did  in  this  'ere  Court ! '  exclaimed  Ike ; 
*  the  light  of  civilization  has  shed  itself  a  little  too  thick  for 
that.  This  Court  might  just  as  well  try  to  swallow  a  chest 
nut-burr,  or  a  cat,  tail  foremost,  as  to  get  such  a  proposition 
a-down  its  throat.' 

Squire  Longbow  said  he  M  '  never  heer'd  of  such  law  — 
yet  the  question  was  new  to  him.' 

'  Laid  down  in  all  the  law-books  of  the  nineteenth  centu 
ry  ! '  exclaimed  Sile,  '  and  never  heard  on  't ! ' 

'Never  did.' 

'  Why,'  continued  Sile,  *  the  statute  allows  set-off  where  it 
is  of  the  same  natur'  of  the  action.  This,  you  see,  is  slander 
agin'  slander.'  • 

*  True,'  replied  the  Squire, 

*  True,  did  you  say ! '  exclaimed  Ike.     '  You  say  the  sta 
tute  does  allow  slander  to  be  set  off;  our  statute  —  that  sta 
tute  that  I  learned  by  heart  before  I  knew  my  A  B  C's  — 
you  old  bass-wood  headed  son ' —    But  the  Squire  stopped 
Ike  just  at  this  time.    '  We  will  decide  the  question  first,'  he 
said.     *  The  Court  have  made  no  decision  yet.' 

Squire  Longbow  was  in  trouble.  He  smoked  furiously. 
He  examined  the  statutes,  looked  over  liis  docket,  but  he 
did  not  seem  to  get  any  light.  Finally,  a  lucky  thought 
struck  him.  He  saw  old  Mr.  Brown  in  the  crowd,  who  had 


THE  SQUIRE'S  'OPINION.  39 

the  reputation  of  having  once  been  a  Justice  in  the  State  of 
New- York.  The  Squire  arose  and  beckoned  to  him,  and  both 
retired  to  an  adjoining  room.  After  about  a  half  an  hour, 
the  Squire  returned  and  took  his  seat,  and  delivered  his 
opinion.  Here  it  is : 

'  After  an  examination  of  all  the  p'ints  both  for  and  agin' 
the  'lowing  of  the  set-off,  in  which  the  Court  did  n't  leave  no 
stone  unturned  to  get  at  justice,  having  ransacked  some  half 
a  dozen  books  from  eend  to  eend,  and  noted  down  every 
thing  that  anywise  bore  on  the  subject ;  recollecting,  as  the 
Court  well  doz,  what  the  great  Story,  who  's  now  dead  and 
gone,  done  and  writ  'bout  this  very  thing,  (for  we  must  be 
'lowed  to  inform  this  'sembly  that  we  read  Story  in  our  ju- 
venil'  years ;)  having  done  this,  and  refreshing  our  minds 
with  the  testimony ;  and  keeping  in  our  eye  the  rights  of 
parties  —  right-er  liberty,  and  right-er  speech,  back'ards  and 
for'ards  —  for  I  've  as  good  a  right  to  talk  agin'  you,  as  you 
have  to  talk  agin'  me  —  knowing,  as  the  Court  doz,  how 
much  blood  has  been  shed  'cause  folks  wer  n't  'lowed  to  talk 
as  much  as  they  pleased,  making  all  natur'  groan,  the  Court 
is  of  the  opinion  that  the  set-off  must  be  let  in ;  and  such  is 
also  Squire  Brown's  opinion,  and  no  body  will  contradict  that, 
/  know? 

1  Je-A<w-a-phat ! '  groaned  out  Ike,  drawing  one  of  his  very 
longest  breaths.  *  The  great  Je-mi-ma  Wilkinson !  and  so 
that  is  law,  arter  all !  There  's  my  hat,  Squire,'  Ike  contin 
ued,  as  he  arose  and  reached  it  out  to  him  ;  '  and  you  shall 
have  my  gallusses  as  soon  as  I  can  get  at  'em.' 

The  Squire  said  '  the  dignity  of  the  Court  must  be  pre 
served.' 

"'  Of  course  it  must !  of  course  it  must ! '  replied  Ike,  who 
was  growing  very  philosophical  over  the  opinion  of  the 
Squire ;  '  there  ain't  no  friction  on  my  gudgeons  now  ;  I  al- 


40  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

ways  gins  in  to  reg'lar  opinions,  delivered  upon  considera 
tion  ;  I  was  just  thinking,  though,  Squire,  that  as  their  bill 
is  so  much  the  longest,  and  as  the  parties  are  both  here,  Cha 
rity  had  better  let  her  tongue  loose  upon  my  client,  and  take 
out  the  balance  on  the  spot.' 

The  Squire  said  '  the  cause  must  go  on.'  Sile  read  his  set- 
off,  made  up  of  slanderous  words  alleged  to  have  beeu  used ; 
damages  fifty  dollars ;  and  calling  Charity  herself,  upon  the 
principle,  as  he  said,  '  that  it  was  a  book-account,  and  her 
books  were  evidence ;  and  her  books  having  been  lost,  the 
paper  which  he  held,  and  which  was  a  true  copy — for  he 
made  it  out  himself — was  the  next  best  evidence;  all  of 
which  Charity  would  swear  to  straight  along.' 

The  Court  admitted  Charity,  and  she  swore  the  set-off 
through,  and  some  fifty  dollars  more ;  and  she  was  going  on 
horse-race  speed,  when  Sile  stopped  her  '  before,'  as  he  told 
her,  <  she  swore  the  cause  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  a  ma 
gistrate.' 

Here  the  evidence  closed.  Midnight  had  set  in,  and  the 
cause  was  yet  to  be  summed  up. 

The  Court  informed  Ike  and  Sile  that  they  were  limited  to 
half  an  hour  each. 

Ike  opened  the  argument,  and  such  an  opening,  and  such 
an  argument !  It  will  not  be  expected  that  I  can  repeat  it. 
There  never  lived  a  man  who  could.  It  covered  all  things 
mortal  and  immortal.  Genius,  and  sense,  and  nonsense ;  wit, 
humor,  pathos,  venom,  and  vulgarity,  were  all  piled  up  to 
gether,  and  belched  forth  upon  the  Jury.  He  talked  about 
the  case,  the  Court,  the  Jury,  his  client,  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  Puddleford  in  particular.  '  The  slander  was  ad 
mitted,'  he  declared,  '  because  the  defendant  had  tried  to  set 
off  something  agiri  it ;  and  if  his  client  did  n't  get  a  judg 
ment,  he  'd  make  a  rattling  among  the  dry  bones  of  the  law, 


GRAND   FINALE.  41 

that  would  rouse  the  dead  of  76  ! '  He  was  'fifty  feet  front, 
and  rear  to  the  river ; '  '  had  seen  great  changes  on  the  t'res- 
tial  globe ; '  '  know'd  all  the  sciences  from  Neb-u-cwc?-nezzar 
down  ; '  '  know'd  law  —  't  was  the  milk  of  his  existence/  As 
to  the  Court's  opinion  about  the  set-off,  *  his  head  was  chock 
full  of  cob-webs  or  bumble-bees,  he  did  n't  know  which  ; ' 
'his  judgment  warn't  hardly  safe  on  a  common  note-er- 
hand ; '  *  he  M  no  doubt  but  that  three  jist  such  cases  would 
run  him  stark  mad ; '  *  Natur'  was  sorry  she  'd  ever  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  him ;  and  he  'd  himself  been  sorry  ever 
since ;  and  as  for  ed'cation,  he  warn't  up  to  the  school-marm, 
for  she  could  read  ; '  'the  Jury  had  better  give  him  a  ver 
dict  if  they  did  n't  want  the  nightmare.'  And  thus  he  was 
running  on,  when  his  half  hour  expired,  but  he  could  not  be 
stopped  —  as  well  stop  a  tornado.  So  Sile  arose,  and  com 
menced  his  argument  for  the  defendant ;  and  at  it  both  la 
bored,  Ike  for  plaintiff,  Sile  for  defendant,  until  the  Court  swore 
a  constable,  and  ordered  the  Jury  to  retire  with  him,  the  argu 
ment  still  going  on ;  and  thus  the  Jury  left  the  room,  Ike 
and  Sile  following  them  up,  laying  down  the  law  and  the 
fact;  and  the  last  thing  I  observed  just  before  the  door 
closed,  was  Ike's  arm  run  through  it  at  us,  going  through  a 
variety  of  gestures,  his  expiring  effort  in  behalf  of  his  client. 

After  a  long  deliberation  among  the  jurors,  during  which 
almost  every  thing  was  discussed  but  the  evidence,  it  was  an 
nounced  by  our  foreman,  on  '  coming  in,'  that '  we  could  not 
agree,  four  on  'em  being  for  fifty  dollars  for  the  defendant 
'cording  to  law,  and  one  on  'em  for  no  cause  of  action,  (my 
self,)  and  he  stood  out,  'cause  he  was  a-feared,  or  wanted  to 
be  pop'lar  with  somebody.' 

And  thus  ended  the  trial  between  Filkins  and  Beadle. 


42  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Wanderings  in  the  "Wilderness  —  A  Bee-Hunt  —  Sunrise  —  The  Fox- 
Squirrel  —  The  Blue-Jay  —  The  Gopher  —  The  Partridges  — 
Wild  Geese,  Ducks,  and  Cranes  — Blackbirds  and  Meadow- 
Larks —  Venison's  Account  of  the  Bees,  Domestic  Economy  — 
How  Venison  found  what  he  was  in  search  of — Honey  Secured 
—  After  Reflections. 

VENISON  STYLES  and  myself,  as  I  have  stated,  had  now 
become  intimate.  Together  we  scoured  the  woods  and 
streams,  in  pursuit  of  fish  and  game.  There  was  a  kind  of 
rustic  poetry  about  the  old  man  that  fascinated  my  soul. 
His  thoughts  and  feelings  had  been  drawn  from  nature,  and 
there  was  a  strange  freshness  and  life  about  every  thing  he 
said  and  did.  He  was  as  firm  and  fiery  as  a  flint ;  and  the 
sparks  struck  out  of  him  were  as  beautiful.  Winds  and 
storms,  morn's  early  dawn,  the  hush  of  evening,  the  seasons 
and  all  their  changes,  had  become  a  part  of  him  —  they 
had  moulded  and  kept  him.  They  played  upon  him,  like  a 
breeze  upon  a  harp.  How  could  I  help  loving  him  ? 

Before  day-break,  one  morning  in  October,  Venison,  my 
self,  his  honey-box,  and  axes,  set  out  '  a  bee-hunting,'  as 
he  called  it.  It  was  in  the  beautiful  and  inspiring  season  of 
Indian  summer,  a  season  that  lingers  long  and  lovely  over 
the  forests  of  the  West.  There  had  been  a  hard,  black 
frost  during  the  night,  and  the  great  red  sun  rose  upon  it, 
shrouded  in  smoke.  We  were  soon  deep  in  the  heart  of  the 
wilderness,  tramping  over  the  fallen  leaves,  and  pushing  for 
ward  to  where  the  '  bees  were  thick  a-workin,'  according  to 
Venison. 


THE    FOX-SQUIRREL.  43 

As  the  sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  the  leaves  began,  all 
around,  to  thaw,  and  detach  themselves  from  the  trees,  and 
silently  settle  to  the  ground.  There  stood  the  yellow  walnut, 
the  blood-red  maple,  side  by  side  with  the  green  pine  and 
the  spruce.  Ten  thousand  rainbows  were  interlaced  through 
the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  now  and  then  a  sharp  peak  shot 
up  its  pile  of  mosaic  into  the  sky. 

Not  a  sound  was  heard  around  us  till  morning's  dawn. 
The  tranquillity  was  oppressive.  The  mighty  wilderness 
was  asleep.  Every  thing  felt  as  fixed  and  awful  as  eternity. 
The  vast  extent  of  the  wooded  waste,  reaching  thousands 
of  miles  beyond,  on,  and  on,  and  on,  filled  with  mountains, 
lakes,  and  streams,  lying  in  solitary  grandeur,  as  unchanged 
as  on  the  day  the  Pyramids  were  finished,  overwhelmed  the 
imagination.  And  then  the  future  arose  upon  the  mind, 
when  all  this  should  be  busy  with  life  —  when  the  present 
would  be  history,  referred  to,  but  not  remembered  —  when 
the  present  population  of  the  globe  would  have  been  swept 
from  the  face  of  it,  and  another  generation  in  our  place, 
playing  with  the  toys  that  so  long  amused,  and  which  we, 
at  last,  leave  behind  us. 

But  as  day  dawned,  and  morning  began  to  throw  in  her 
arrows  of  gold  about  our  feet,  the  wilderness  began  to  wake 
up.  A  fox-squirrel  shot  out  from  his  bed  in  a  hollow  tree, 
where  he  had  been  lodging  during  the  night ;  and  scamper 
ing  up  a  tall  maple,  he  sat  himself  down,  threw  his  tail  over 
his  back,  and  broke  forth  with  his  chiclc-chicJc-chickaree, 
chickaree,  chickaree!  —  making  the  woods  ring  with  his  song. 

'  Look  at  him  ; '  exclaimed  Venison ;  '  he  's  as  sassy  as 
ever.  If  I  had  my  rifle,  I  'd  knock  the  spots  oft'  that  check 
coat  of  liis'n ;  I  'd  larn  him  to  chickaree  old  Venison.' 

This  squirrel,  very  common  in  some  of  the  north-western 
States,  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  of  its  species. 


44  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

He  is  dressed  in  a  suit  of  light-brown  check,  and  may  be 
seen,  in  warm,  sunny  days,  cantering  over  the  ground,  or 
running  through  the  tree-tops.  He  is  a  very  careful  and  a 
very  busy  body.  I  have  often  watched  him,  as  he  sat  bolt 
upright  in  a  hickory,  eating  nuts,  and  throwing  the  shucks 
on  the  ground,  with  all  the  gravity  of  a  judge.  During  the 
fall,  he  hoards  up  large  quantities  of  stores.  He  hulls  his 
beech-nuts,  selects  the  fairest  walnuts,  picks  up,  here  and 
there,  a  few  chestnuts,  and  packs  every  thing  away  in  his 
castle  with  the  utmost  care;  and,  as  Veuison  says,  'the 
choppers  in  the  winter  have  stolen  bushels  on  'em  ! ' 

While  our  squirrel  was  singing  his  morning  psalm,  a  crow, 
just  out  of  his  bed,  went  sailing  along  above  us,  with  his 
4  caw  !  caw  ! '  and  settled  on  a  tree  near  by.  *  Caw  I  caw! ' 
he  screamed  again,  looking  down  curiously  at  the  squirrel, 
as  much  as  to  say,  '  Who  cares  for  your  music ! '  Then  out 
hurried  another  squirrel,  and  another,  breaking  forth  with 
joy,  until  the  crow,  fairly  drowned  out,  spread  his  wings 
and  soared  away.  Venison  says  *  them  crows  can  smell  gun 
powder,  and  that  fellow  know'd  we  had  n't  any,  when  he  lit 
so  near  us.' 

A  blue-jay  then  commenced  a  loud  call  from  a  distant 
part  of  the  forest.  He  is  one  of  the  birds  that  lingers  be 
hind,  and  braves  the  blasts  of  winter.  He  was  flitting  about 
in  a  tree-top,  and  had  just  commenced  his  day's  work.  How 
gaudily  Nature  has  dressed  this  bird !  How  he  shines,  dur 
ing  spring  and  summer  !  All  the  shades,  and  touches,  and 
tinges  of  blue,  flow  over  his  gaudy  mantle ;  and  how  orderly 
and  lavishly  they  are  strown  over  him.  But  the  blue-jay  is 
a  dissolute  kind  of  a  fellow,  after  all  — '  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  thief,'  Venison  says.  His  shadowy  dress  fades 
with  the  leaf,  and  after  strutting  about  during  the  warmer 
months,  making  a  great  display  of  his  finery,  he  '  runs  down/ 


STILL   LIFE.  45 

at  last,  into  a  confirmed  loafer.  Groups  of  them  may  be 
seen  in  the  winter,  drudging  around  among  the  withered 
bushes,  and  scolding  like  so  many  shrews. 

Then  out  popped  the  little  gopher,  that  finished  piece  of 
stripe  and  check,  that  miner,  \vho  digs  deep  in  the  ground. 
He,  too,  had  left  his  mansion,  and  come  to  greet  the  morn. 
A  troop  of  quail  marched  along,  headed  by  their  chief. 
Who  does  not  love  the  quail  ?  She  is  associated  with  early 
childhood  and  household  memories.  Her  voice  rings  through 
the  past.  We  heard  it  sounding  over  our  better  years.  What 
a  rich  brown  suit  she  wears,  cut  round  with  Quaker  simpli 
city  !  what  taste  and  neatness  about  it !  It  was  she,  that  long 
ago  went  forth  with  the  reapers,  and  piped  for  them  her  sun 
rise  psalm,  lMore  wet !  More  wet ! '  and  she  will  stay  here 
with  us  during  the  winter,  and  traverse,  with  her  caravan, 
all  day,  the  desert  wastes  of  snow.  Venison  says,  he  *do  n't 
never  kill  a  quail  — it  ain't  right,  —  but  he  don't  know 
why.' 

The  partridges,  all  around,  commenced  rolling  their  drums, 
and  every  little  while,  one  would  whirr  past  our  heads,  and 
die  away  in  the  distance.  The  whole  woodpecker  family 
began  their  labor.  He  who  wears  a  red-velvet  cap,  silk 
shawl,  and  white  under-clothes,  was  boring  away  in  a  rotten 
tree,  to  find  his  breakfast ;  and  he  kept  hitching  around,  and 
hammering,  without  regarding  or  caring  for  our  presence. 
The  rabbit,  with  ears  erect,  sat  drawn  up  in  a  heap,  quiver 
ing  with  fear  as  he  gazed  upon  us. 

At  last,  we  reached  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  Venison 
said  :  « We  had  better  sit  down,  and  take  our  reck'ning.' 
Here  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  pictures  of  still  life,  ever 
painted  by  Nature.  The  river  wound  away  like  a  silver 
serpent,  until  it  was  lost  in  a  bank  of  Indian  summer  haze, 
and  it  gurgled  and  dashed  through  the  aisles  of  the  forest, 


46  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

like  a  dream  through,  the  silent  realms  of  sleep.  It  lay, 
half  sun-shine,  half  shadow,  and  the  shadow  was  slowly 
creeping  up  a  tall  cliff  on  the  opposite  shore,  as  the  day 
advanced,  counting,  as  it  were,  the  moments  as  they  passed. 
Afar  down  it,  I  was  amused  as  I  watched  a  flock  of  wild 
geese.  They  were  about  a  hundred  in  number,  sleeping 
upon  the  water,  in  a  glassy  cove,  their  heads  neatly  tucked 
under  their  wings.  An  old  gander,  who  had  been  appointed 
sentinel,  to  keep  watch  and  guard,  was  doing  the  best  he 
could  to  perform  his  duty.  He  stood  upon  one  leg,  and  he 
grew  so  drowsy,  several  times,  that  he  nearly  toppled  over," 
to  his  great  consternation,  and  the  danger  of  his  charge. 
But  rousing  up,  and  taking  two  or  three  pompous  strides, 
and  stretching  his  neck  to  its  utmost,  with  a  very  'wise  look, 
he  satisfied  himself  that  all  was  right,  and  that  he  was  not 
so  bad  a  sentinel,  after  all. 

Near  by  this  sleeping  community,  where  a  ripple  played 
over  a  cluster  of  rocks,  a  flock  of  ducks  were  performing 
their  ablutions.  Now  they  were  diving,  now  combing  out 
their  feathers,  now  rising  and  flapping  their  Avings,  now 
playing  with  each  other,  when  the  leader  blowing  a  blast  on 
his  trumpet,  they  rose  gracefully  from  their  bath,  and  form 
ing  themselves  into  a  drag,  went  winnowing  up  the  river  to 
their  haunts  far  away. 

A  sand-hill  crane,  hoisted  up  on  his  legs  of  stilts,  his 
clothes  gathered  up,  and  pinned  behind  him,  was  leisurely . 
wading  about,  spearing  fish  for  his  breakfast.  A  dozy,  stupid- 
looking  king-fisher  sat  upon  a  blasted  limb  just  over  him, 
looking  as  grave  as  a  country  justice,  engaged  in  the  same 
business.  A  bald  eagle  came  rushing  down  the  stream  like 
an  air-ship,  his  great  wings  slowly  heaving  up  and  down,  as 
if  he  had  set  out  upon  an  all-day's  journey.  A  musk-rat 
ferried  himself  over  from  one  side  to  the  other,  urgent  upon 


VENISON'S  BEE-POLITY.  47 

business  best  known  io  himself.  A  prairie-wolf  came  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  gave  a  bark  or  two,  and,  taking  a  drink, 
turned  back  the  way  he  came. 

How  many  birds  had  left  the  wilderness  for  other  climes  ! 
The  blackbirds,  those  saucy  gabblers,  who  spent  the  summer 
here,  feeding  upon  wild  rice,  departed  a  month  ago.  I  saw 
their  bustle  and  preparation.  They  Avere  days  and  days 
getting  ready  for  their  journey.  The  whole  country  around 
was  alive  with  their  noise.  They  sang,  and  fretted.  They 
seemed  to  be  out  of  all  kind  of  patience  with  every  body 
and  every  thing  —  to  have  a  kind  of  spite  against  Nature 
for  driving  them  off.  All  the  trees  about  the  marshes  were 
loaded,  and  some  were  singing,  some  complaining,  some 
scolding ;  but  having  finally  completed  their  arrangements, 
all  of  a  sudden  they  left.  And  the  meadow-lark,  that  came 
so  early  with  her  spring  song  —  she  who  used  to  sit  upon 
the  waving  grass,  and  heave  herself  to  and  fro,  in  so  ecstatic 
and  polite  a  manner,  as  her  melody  rose  and  fell  —  she,  too, 
is  gone. 

But,  about  hunting  bees.  Venison  informed  me  that  here 
was  the  spot,  where  he  should  'try  'em  —  that  he  didn't 
know  nothing  about  his  luck ; '  that '  bees  were  the  know- 
ingest  critters  alive'  —  that  they  lived  in  'the holler  trees, all 
around  us.'  He  said  *  they  had  queens  to  govern  'em  '  — 
that  they  had  'workers  and  drones'— that  'every  thing 
about  'em  was  done  just  so,  and  if  any  of  'em  broke  the 
laws,  they  just  killed  'em,  and  pitched  'em  overboard.'  This, 
he  said,  he  had 'seed  himself;  he  had  seen  a  reg'lar  bee 
funeral.'  He  *  seed,  once,  four  bees  tugging  at  a  dead  body, 
drawing  it  on  the  back,  when  they  throw'd  it  out  of  the 
hive,  and  covered  it  over  with  dirt.'  And  then  they  have 
'wars,' he  says,  and  'gen'rals,' and  '  captins,'  and  'sogers,' 
and  'go  out  a-fighting,  and  a-stealing  honey;'  they  are 


48  PUDDLEFORD    AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

very  *  knowin'  critters,  and  there  is  no  tellin'  nothing  about 
'em.' 

Venison  took  the  little  box  he  had  brought  with  him, 
•which  was  filled  with  honey,  and,  opening  its  lid,  placed  it 
on  a  stump.  He  then  rambled  around  the  woods  until  he 
found  a  lingering  flower  that  had  escaped  the  frost,  with  a 
honey-bee  upon  it.  This  he  picked,  bee  and  all,  and  placed 
on  the  honey.  Soon,  the  bee  began  to  work  and  load  him 
self;  and  finally  he  rose  in  circles,  winding  high  in  the  air, 
and  suddenly  turning  a  right-angle,  he  shot  out  of  sight. 

'  Where  has  he  gone  ? '  inquired  I. 

'  Gone  hum  where  he  lives,'  answered  Venison,  *  to  unload 
his  thighs  and  tell  the  news.' 

In  a  few  moments,  three  bees  returned,  filled  themselves, 
and  departed;  then  six;  then  a  dozen,  until  a  black  line 
was  formed,  along  which  they  were  rushing  both  ways, 
empty  and  laden,  one  end  of  which  was  lost  in  the  forest. 

Venison  and  myself  then  started  on  a  trot,  with  our  eyes 
upward,  to  follow  this  living  line ;  and  after  having  proceed 
ed  a  quarter  of  a  mile  it  became  so  confused  and  scattered 
that  we  gave  it  up,  and  returned. 

4  What  now  ? '  I  inquired. 

4 1  '11  have  'em  !  I  '11  have  'em  ! '  he  replied.  '  They  can 't 
cheat  old  Venison.  I  've  hunted  the  critters  mor-nor  forty 
years,  and  I  allers  takes  'em  when  I  tries.  I  '11  draw  a 
couple  of  more  sights  on  'ern.' 

Venison  took  two  pieces  more  of  honey,  and  placed  one 
on  each  side  of  his  box.  The  bees  followed  him  and  com 
menced  their  work.  Very  soon,  instead  of  one,  he  had 
three  lines  established,  his  line  of  honey  forming  the  base 
of  a  triangle,  while  the  bees  were  ail  rushing  to  its  point,  on 
each  side  of  this  triangle  through  its  middle. 

This,  of  course,  was  a  demonstration.     Venison  and  my- 


HONEY   FOUND.  49 

self  followed  up  again,  and,  sure  enough,  we  *  had  'em,'  as 
he  predicted.  There  they  were,  roaring  in  the  top  of  a  great 
oak,  like  thunder,  coming  in  and  going  out,  wheeling  up  and 
down  through  the  air  as  though  some  great  celebration  was 
going  on.  It  seemed  that  the  whole  hive  of  workers  must 
have  broken  forth  to  capture  and  carry  v  away  Venison's 
honey-box. 

*  Will  they  sting  ? '  inquired  I. 

*  Some  folks  they  will,'  he  replied.     *  If  they  hate  a  man 
they  '11  follow  him  a  mile ;  and  no  body  knows  who  they 
hate  and  who  they  do  n't,  until  they  're  tried.' 

*  Where  's  the  honey?'  I  inquired  again. 

Well1,  that 's  the  next  thing  I'm  arter ; '  and  Venison  put 
his  ear  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree  to  ascertain  in  what  part  of 
it  they  were  *  a-workin'.'  He  listened  a  while,  but  '  they 
warn't  low  down,  he  know'd,  for  he  did  n't  hear  'em  hum- 
min'.'  He  thought  the  honey  was  *  out  the  way,  high  up 
some  where.'  So  at  the  tree  he  went  with  his  axe,  and  in 
half  an  hour  the  old  oak  —  older,  probably,  than  any  man 
on  the  globe  —  came  down  with  a  crash  that  roused  up  all 
the  echoes  of  the  wilderness. 

Upon  an  examination,  the  honey  was,  probably,  Venison 
thought,  packed  away  in  a  hollow  of  the  tree,  about  fifty 
feet  from  the  ground,  as  a  large  knot-hole  was  discerned  out 
of  which  the  bees  were  streaming  in  great  consternation. 
So  he  severed  the  trunk  again,  at  the  bottom  of  the  hollow, 
and  there  it  was,  great  flakes,  piled  one  upon  another,  some 
of  which  had  been  broken  by  the  fall  of  the  tree,  and  were 
dripping  and  oozing  out  their  wild  richness. 

'  That 's  the  raal  stuff,'  exclaimed  Venison ;  '  something 
'sides  bees-bread.' 

Venison  had  brought  nothing  with  him  to  hold  his  honey, 
and  I  was  a  little  curious  to  know  how  he  would  manage. 
3 


50  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

He  cut  the  tree  again  above  the  knot.  During  his  labor, 
the  bees  had  settled  all  over  him.  His  hands,  faee,  and  hair 
were  filled,  beside  a  circle  of  them  that  were  angrily  wheel 
ing  about  his  head.  But  he  heeded  them  not,  except  by  ais 
occasional  shake,  which  was  significant  of  pity  rather  than 
rage. 

'Now,'  said  Venison,  when  his  work  was  finished,  the 
tree  cut,  the  knot-hole  stopped,  and  the  whole  turned  upside 
down,  *  that  Ts  what  I  call  a  nat'ral  bee-hive,  and  we  '11  just 
stuff  in  a  little  dry  grass  on  tbe  top,  a»d  then  I  '11  be  ready 
to  move.' 

*  Move  I'  I  exclaimed,  'move !     Yon  don't  expect  we  will 
carry  home  a  tree,  do  you  ? ' 

*  Two  or  three  on  'em,  I  s'pect.     Venison  allers  gels  as- 
much  as  that,' 

Venison  was  right.  Before  noor>,  half  a  dozen  hives  were 
captured  and  ready  for  removal.  I  confess,  after  the  excite 
ment  was  over,  that  I  began  to  grow  quite  serious  over  my 
forenoon's  labor.  I  sat  down  to  rest  myself,  and  the  very 
solemnity  of  the  wilderness  produced  a  sober  train  of  thought. 
A  south-west  breeze  sprang  up  loaded  with  the  dying  breath 
of  the  fall-flowers.  It  was  blowing  down  the  leaves  around 
me,  and  piling  them  i*p  in  gorgeous  drifts.  Like  an  under 
taker  around  the  remains  of  the  dead,  it  was  quietly  tearing 
down  the  drapery,  and  preparing  the  year  for  its  burial.  A 
haze  overspread  every  thing,  and  the  distance  was  mellow, 
the  objects  indistinct,  and  the  whole  landscape  seemed  swim 
ming,  as  we  sometimes  see  it  fn  a  dream.  The  trees  were 
covered  with  haze ;  aM  a  canoe,  on  its  way  down,  appeared 
to  be  hung  up  in  the  air;  the  birds  were  hazy  ;  and,  looking 
about  me,  I  appeared  to  be  sitting  in  a  great  tent  of  haze. 
The  squirrels  were  clattering  through  the  trees,  and  throwing 
down  the  nuts ;  the  partridges  were  drumming ;  the  rabbits 


51 

rustling  through  the  dry  leaves;  the  water-fowl  hurrying 
through  the  air ;  and  the  crickets,  those  melancholy  musi 
cians,  were  piping  a  low,  dirge-like  strain  to  the  golden  hours 
of  autumn  as  they  passed  away. 

I  thought  I  could  hear  the  great  heart  of  Nature  beat 
with  measured  and  palpitating  strokes  ;  could  feel  the  mas 
sive  pendulum  of  Time  swinging  back  and  forth. 

But  I  said  I  was  rather  sober.  There  stood  our  six  bee 
hives,  and  clinging  to  each  in  large  clusters  were  its  inhabit 
ants,  who  had  been  driven  forth  by  us  to  brave  a  pitiless 
winter.  We  had  destroyed  six  cities,  and  banished  their 
people  ;  six  cities,  six  governments  of  law  and  order.  Cities 
laid  out  in  lanes,  and  streets,  and  squares  ;  cities  of  dwelling- 
houses  and  castles  ;  cities  filled  with  all  sorts  of  people  ;  all 
castes  in  society.  There  were  the  queen  and  her  palace; 
the  drones  and  their  castles ;  and  the  serf,  or  day-laborer, 
and  his  hut;  and  there,  sitting  upon  her  throne,  the  sover 
eign  swayed  as  mighty  a  sceptre,  tyrannized  over  as  great  a 
people,  in  her  opinion,  as  any  human  despot.  She  undoubt 
edly  bustled  about,  talked  large,  swelled  up  herself  with  her 
importance,  boasted  of  her  blood,  of  her  divine  right  to  rule, 
(certainly  divine  in  her  case,)  just  as  all  earthly  princes  do. 
•  There  she  projected  plans  of  war,  marshalled  her  forces,  and 
stimulated  their  courage  with  inflammatory  appeals.  She 
talked  about  her  house  as  the  royal  line,  as  the  French  used 
to  about  the  Bourbons.  And  then  a  lazy  aristocracy  had 
been  broken  up  by  us ;  we  had  turned  hundreds  of  drones 
adrift,  and  according  to  the  modern  definition,  drones  must 
be  aristocrats  ;  that  is,  they  did  no  work,  and  lived  upon  the 
labor  of  others.  They  were,  in  all  probability,  just  like  all 
other  aristocratic  drones.  They  lounged  about  the  hive  in  each 
other's  company ;  had  an  occasional  uproar  at  each  other's 
table ;  turned  out  to  take  the  morning  air,  and  slept  after 


52  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

dinner.  They  probably  advised  in  all  matters  of  public 
policy,  and  cried  every  day :  '  Long  live  the  Queen.'  I  did 
not  care  much  about  the  drones,  however.  But  we  had 
turned  the  poor  day-laborer  out  of  doors ;  he  who  rose  with 
the  sun,  and  went  forth  to  work  while  the  dew  was  yet  lying 
on  the  flowers.  We  had  humbled  the  pride  of  six  cities, 
and  brought  it  to  the  dust.  Is  it  strange  that  I  felt  sober  ? 

But  Venison  broke  my  musing  by  informing  me  that  it 
was  *  about  time  to  cakalate  a  little  about  getting  our  honey 
home,  and  he  guessed  he  'd  go  and  rig  up  a  raft,  and  float 
the  cargo  down.' 

And  soon  a  raft  was  constructed  of  flood-wood,  and  bound 
together  with  green  withes,  the  honey  rolled  aboard,  two 
long  poles  prepared  to  be  used  to  guide  the  craft,  and  away 
we  glided,  followed  by  a  long  train  of  bees,  who  had  been 
despoiled,  and  who  streamed  along  after  us,  until  the  shadows 
of  evening  arrested  their  flight,  and  parted  them  and  their 
treasure  for  ever. 


THE   LOG-CHAPEL.  53 


CHAPTER     IV. 

The  Log-Chapel  —  Father  Beals  —  Aunt  Graves  —  Sister  Abigail  — 
Bigelow  Van  Slyck,  the  Preacher  —  His  Entree  —  How  he  Worked 
—  One  of  his  Sermons  —  Performance  of  the  Choir —  '  Coronation ' 
Achieved — Getting  into  Position — Personal  Appeals  —  Effect  on 
the  Congregation — Sabbath  in  the  Wilderness — Is  Bigelow  the 
only  Ridiculous  Preacher  ? 

PUDDLEFORD  was  not  altogether  a  wilderness,  although  it 
was  located  near  a  wilderness.  It  was  located  just  on  the 
out-skirts  of  civilization,  and,  like  Venison  Styles,  it  caught 
a  reflection  of  civilized  life  from  the  east,  and  of  savage  life 
from  the  west.  It  was  an  organized  township,  and  was  a  part 
of  an  organized  county.  There  were  hundreds  and  thou 
sands  of  men  who  were  busy  at  work  all  over  this  county, 
cutting  down  the  trees  and  breaking  up  the  soil.  Law  and 
religion  had  found  their  way  among  them,  just  as  they  always 
accompany  the  American  pioneer.  It  could  not  be  otherwise ; 
because  these  obligations  grow  up  and  weave  themselves  into 
the  very  nature  of  the  people  of  our  republic.  They  are 
written  on  the  soul.  So  that  judicial  circuits,  a  court-house 
and  jail,  Methodist  circuits  and  circuit-riders,  and  meeting 
houses,  were  established.  All  this  was  rough,  like  the  coun 
try  itself. 

Few  persons  have  ever  attempted  to  define  the  piety  of 
just  such  a  community  as  this ;  and  yet  it  has  a  form,  tone, 
and  character  peculiarly  its  own.  The  portraits  of  the 
Puddlefordians  were  just  as  clearly  reproduced  in  their 
religion,  as  if  they  had  been  drawn  by  sun-light. 


54  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

The  '  log-chapel,'  as  it  was  called,  at  Pudclleforcl,  was  filled 
each  week,  with  one  or  two  hundred  rough,  hard-featured 
unlearned  men  and  women,  who  had  come  in  from  all  parts 
of  the  country ;  some  for  devotional-  exercises,  some  for 
amusement ;  some  to  look,  and  some  to  be  looked  at.  This 
congregation  shifted  faces  each  week,  like  the  colors  in  a 
kaleidoscope.  It  was  never  the  same.  The  man  in  the  pulpit 
must  have  felt  as  though  he  were  preaching  to  a  running 
river,  whose  parts  were  continually  changing.  Yet  there  was 
a  church  at  Puddleford,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word ;  it 
was  organized,  and  had,  at  the  time  I  refer  to,  ten  regular 
members  in  good  standing :  all  the  rest  was  '  floating  capital,' 
that  drifted  in  from  Sunday  to  Sunday,  and  swelled  the 
*  church  proper.' 

There  was  'Father  Beals,'  and  old  'Aunt  Graves,'  and 
'  Sister  Abigail,'  who  were  regular  attendants  at  all  times  and 
seasons.  They  were,  beyond  all  doubt,  the  pillars  of  the 
Puddleford  church.  Father  Beals  was  the  church,  before  any 
building  for  worship  was  erected.  He  was  looked  upon  as  a 
living,  moving,  spiritual  body ;  a  Methodist  organization  in 
himself;  and  wherever  he  went  to  worship  on  the  Sabbath, 
whether  in  a  private  house,  a  barn,  or  in  the  forest,  all  the 
followers  of  that  order  were  found  with  him,  drawn  there  by 
a  kind  of  magnetism.  The  old  man  had  been  one  of  the 
faithful  from  a  boy ;  had  carried  his  principles  about  him  from 
day  to  day ;  was  indeed  a  light  in  the  world ;  and  he  was, 
by  some  plan  of  PROVIDENCE,  flung  far  back  into  the  wilder 
ness,  all  burning,  to  kindle  up  and  set  on  fire  those  about 
him.  His  influence  had  built  the  log-chapel,  and,  like  a 
regulator  in  a  watch,  he  kept  it  steady,  pushing  this  wheel  a 
little  faster,  and  checking  that.  Sometimes  he  had  to  com 
mand,  sometimes  entreat,  sometimes  threaten,  sometimes 
soothe. 


MINT    GRAVES.  55 

*  Father  Beals'  was  a  good  man;  and  no  higher  compli 
ment  can  be  paid  to  any  person.  His  head  was  very  large, 
bald,  and  his  hair  was  white.  There  was  an  expression  of 
great  benevolence  in  his  face,  and  a  cold  calmness  in  his  bine 
eye  that  never  failed  to  command  respect.  He  used  to  sit, 
on  Sundays,  just  under  the  pulpit,  with  a  red  cotton  handker 
chief  thrown  over  him,  while  his  wide-brimmed  hat,  that  he 
wore  into  the  country,  stood  in  front,  on  a  table,  and  really 
seemed  to  listen  to  the  sermon. 

'Aunt  Graves1  was  a  very  useful  body  in  her  way,  and  the 
Puddleford  church  could  not  have  spared  her  any  more  than 
'  Father  Beats.'  She  was  an  old  maid,  and  had  been  a  mem 
ber  of  the  log-chapel  from  its  beginning.  She  was  one  of 
those  sincere  souls  that  really  believed  that  there  was  but  one 
church  in  the  world,  and  that  was  her  own.  She  felt  a  kind 
of  horror  when  she  read  of  other  denominations  having  an 
actual  existence,  and  wondered  '  what  kind  of  judgment  would 
fall  upon  them.'  She  did  n't  know  very  much  about  the 
Bible,  but  she  knew  a  great  deal  about  religion ;  she  knew 
all  about  her  own  duty,  and  quite  a  good  deal  about  the 
duty  of  her  neighbors. 

Now  'Aunt  Graves '  was  useful  in  many  ways.  She  kept, 
in  the  first  place,  a  kind  of  spiritual  thermometer,  that  always 
denoted  the  range  of  every  member's  piety  except  her  own. 
Every  slip  of  the  tongue,  every  uncharitable  remark;  every 
piece  of  indiscretion,  by  word  or  deed ;  all  acts  of  omission, 
as  well  as  of  commission,  were  carefully  registered  by  her, 
and  could  at  any  time  be  examined  and  corrected  by  the 
church.  This  was  convenient  and  useful.  Then,  she  was  a 
choice  piece  of  melody ;  there  was  not  another  voice  like 
hers  in  the  settlement.  It  had  evidently  been  pitched  'from 
the  beginning '  for  the  occasion.  It  possessed  great  power, 
was  quite  shaky,  (a  modern  refinement  in  music,)  and  could 


56  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

be  heard  from  a  half  to  three  quarters  of  a  mile.  She  has 
been  known  to  sweep  away  on  a  high  note,  and  actually  take 
the  Puddleford  choir  off  their  feet.  She  rode  through  the 
staff  of  music  headlong,  like  a  circus-rider  around  the  ring ; 
and  could  jump  three  or  four  notes  at  any  time,  without 
lessening  her  speed,  or  breaking  the  harmony.  She  would 
take  any  piece  of  sacred  music  by  storm,  on  the  very  shortest 
notice.  In  fact,  she  was  the  treble,  aided  by  a  few  others 
who  had  received  their  instruction  from  her ;  and  she  was 
just  as  indispensable  to  worship,  she  thought,  as  a  prayer  or 
a  sermon. 

'Aunt  Graves'  always  made  it  her  business  to  '  keep  a  sharp 
look-out '  after  the  morals  of  the  preacher.  '  Men  are  but 
men,'  she  used  to  say, '  and  preachers  are  but  men  ;  and  they 
need  some  person  to  give  'em  a  hunch  once  in  a  while.' 
Sometimes  she  would  lecture  him  of  the  log-chapel  for  hours 
upon  evidences  of  piety,  acts  of  immorality,  the  importance 
of  circumspection,  the  great  danger  that  surrounded  him  — 
her  tongue  buzzing  all  the  while  like  a  mill-wheel,  propelled 
as  it  was  by  so  much  zeal.  She  said  it  almost  made  her  *  crazy 
to  keep  the  Puddleford  church  right  side  up ;  for  it  did  seem 
as  though  she  had  every  thing  on  her  shoulders ;  and  she 
really  believed  it  would  have  gone  to  smash  long  ago,  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  her.' 

^ow,  *  Sister  Abigail '  was  n't  any  body  in  particular  — 
that  is,  she  was  not  exactly  a  free  agent.  She  was  'Aunt 
Graves' '  shadow  —  a  reflection  of  her ;  a  kind  of  person  that 
said  what  'Aunt  Graves  '  said,  and  did  what  she  did,  and  knew 
what  she  knew,  and  got  angry  when  she  did,  and  over  it 
when  she  did.  She  was  a  kind  of  dial  that  'Aunt  Graves' 
shone  upon,  and  any  one  could  tell  what  time  of  day  it  was 
with  'Aunt  Graves,'  l>y  looking  at  'Sister  Abigail.' 

Besides  these  lights  in  the  church,  there  were  about  (as  I 


BIGELOW   VAN   SLYCK.  57 

have  said)  ten  or  a  dozen  members,  ana  a  congregation 
weekly  of  one  or  two  hundred. 

But  I  must  not  pass  over  the  preacher  himself.  I  only 
speak  of  one,  although  many  filled  the  pulpit  of  the  Puddle- 
ford  church,  during  my  acquaintance  with  it.  Bigelow  Van 
Slffck  was  at  one  time  a  circuit-rider  on  the  Puddleford  cir 
cuit;  and  I  must  be  permitted  to  say,  he  was  the  most  im 
portant  character  that  had  filled  that  station,  prior  to  the 
time  to  which  I  have  reference.  He  was  half  Yankee,  half 
Dutch  ;  an  ingenious  cross,  effected  somewhere  down  in  the 
State  of  Pennsylvania.  He  was  not  yet  a  full-blown  preacher, 
but  an  exhorter  merely.  He  was  active,  industrious,  zealous, 
and  one  would  have  thought  he  had  more  duty  on  his  hands 
than  the  head  of  the  nation.  His  circuit  reached  miles  and 
miles  every  way.  He  was  here  to-day,  there  to-morrow,  and 
somewhere  else  next  day ;  and  he  ate  and  slept  where  he 
could. 

Bigelow's  appointments  were  all  given  out  weeks  in 
advance.  These  appointments  must  be  fulfilled ;  and  he 
was  so  continually  pressed,  that  one  would  have  thought  the 
furies  were  ever  chasing  him. 

I  have  often  seen  him  rushing  into  the  settlement  after  a 
hard  day's  ride.  He  wore  a  white  hat  with  a  wide  brim,  a 
Kentucky-jean  coat,  corduroy  vest  and  breeches,  a  heavy  pair 
of  clouded-blue  yarn  stockings,  and  stogy  boots.  He  rode  a 
racking  Indian  pony,  who  wore  a  shaggy  mane  and  tail. 
Bigelow  usually  made  his  appearance  in  Puddleford  just  as 
the  long  shadows  of  a  Saturday  evening  were  pointing  over 
the  landscape.  The  pony  came  clattering  in  at  the  top  of 
his  speed,  panting  and  blowing,  as  full  of  business  and  zeal 
as  his  master,  while  Bigelow's  extended  legs  and  fluttering 
bandana  kept  time  to  the  movement.  The  women  ran  to 
the  doors,  the  children  paused  in  the  midst  of  their  frolic,  as 
3* 


58  rUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE . 

his  pony  stirred  up  the  echoes  around  their  ears ;  and  it  is 
said  that  the  chickens  and  turkeys,  who  had  often  witnessed 
the  death  of  one  of  their  number  when  this  phantom  appeared, 
set  up  a  most  dismal  hue-and-cry,  and  took  to  their  wings  in 
the  greatest  consternation. 

We  hope  that  none  of  our  readers  will  form  an  unfavoyia- 
ble  opinion  of  Bigelow,  after  having  read  our  description  of 
him.  He  was  the  man  of  all  others  to  fill  the  station  he 
occupied.  He  was  as  much  a  part  of,  and  as  necessary  to, 
the  wilderness  he  inhabited,  as  the  oak  itself.  He  belonged 
to  the  locality.  /  He  was  one  of  a  gallery  of  portraits  that 
nature  and  circumstances  had  hung  up  in  the  forest  for  a 
useful  purpose,  just  as  Squire  Longbow  was  another.  The  one 
managed  the  church,  the  other  the  courts ;  and  all  this  was 
done  in  reference  to  society  as  it  was,  not  what  it  ought  to  be, 
or  might  be.  There  was  a  kind  of  elasticity  about  Bigelow's 
theology,  as  there  was  about  the  Squire's  law,  that  let  all 
perplexing  technicalities  pass  along  without  producing  any 
friction.  They  were  graduated  upon  the  sliding-scale  princi 
ple,  and  were  never  exactly  the  same. 

Bigelow  was  a  host  in  theology  in  his  way.  He  could 
reconcile  at  once  any  and  every  point  that  could  be  raised. 
He  never  admitted  a  doubt  to  enter  into  his  exhortations,  but 
he  informed  his  hearers  at  once  just  how  the  matter  stood. 
He  professed  to  be  able  to  demonstrate  any  theological  ques 
tion  at  once,  to  the  satisfaction  of  any  reasonable  mind ;  and 
it  was  all  folly  to  labor  with  the  unreasonable,  he  said,  for 
they  would  l  fight  agin  the  truth  as  long  as  they  could,  any 
way.' 

I  used  occasionally  to  hear  him  exhort,  and  he  was  in  every 
respect  an  off-hand  preacher.  He  worked  like  a  black 
smith  at  the  forge.  Coat,  vest,  and  handkerchief,  one  after 
the  other,  flew  off  as  he  became  more  and  more  heated  in  his 


A   GREAT   OCCASION.  59 

discourse.    At  one  time  he  thundered  down  the  terrors  of  the 

X 

law  upon  the  heads  of  his  hearers  ;  at  another  he  persuaded  ; 
and  suddenly  he  would  take  a  facetious  turn,  and  accompany 
the  truth  with  a  story  about  his  grand-father  down  on  the 
Ohio,  or  an  anecdote  that  he  had  read  in  the  newspapers. 
He  wept  and  he  laughed,  and  the  whole  assembly  were  moved 
as  his  feelings  moved;  now  silent  with  grief,  and  now  swell 
ing  with  enthusiasm. 

I  recollect  one  of  his  sermons  in  part,  and,  in  fact,  the 
most  of  the  services  accompanying  it.  It  was  a  soft  day  in 
June.  The  birds  were  singing  and  revelling  among  the  trees 
which  canopied  the  chapel.  The  church  was  filled.  The 
choir  were  all  present.  '  Father  Beals,'  'Aunt  Graves,'  and 
4  Sister  Abigail '  were  in  their  accustomed  seats.  The  farmers 
from  the  country  had  '  turned  out ; '  in  fact,  it  was  one  of  the 
most  stirring  days  Puddleford  had  ever  known.  It  was  quite 
evident  that  the  occasion  was  extraordinary,  as  'Aunt  Graves ' 
was  very  nervous  the  moment  she  took  her  seat  in  the  choir. 
If  any  error  should  be  committed,  the  exercises  would  be 
spoiled,  prayers,  preaching,  and  all ;  because,  according  to  her 
judgment,  they  all  depended  upon  good  music;  and  that  she 
was  responsible  for.  So  she  began  to  hitch  about,  first  this 
way,  and  then  that;  then  she  ran  over  the  music-book, 
and  then  the  index  to  it ;  then  she  hummed  a  tune  inaudibly 
through  her  nose ;  then  she  examined  the  hymn-book,  and 
then  changed  her  seat ;  and  then  changed  back  again.  She 
was,  in  her  opinion,  the  wheel  that  kept  every  other  wheel 
in  motion;  and  what  if  that  wheel  should  stop ! 

But  the  hymn  was  at  last  given  out ;  and  there  was  a  rust 
ling  of  leaves,  and  an  a-hemming,  and  coughing,  and  spitting ; 
and  sounding  of  notes ;  and  a  toot  on  a,  cracked  clarionet, 
which  had  been  wound  with  tow ;  and  a  low  grunt  from  a 
bass-viol,  produced  by  a  grave-looking  man  in  the  corner. 


60  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

Then  all  rose,  and  launched  forth  in  one  of  those  ancient 
pieces  of  church-harmony,  'Coronation;7  every  voice  and  in 
strument  letting  itself  go  to  its  utmost  extent.  One  airy- 
looking  person  was  pumping  out  his  bass  by  rising  and  fall 
ing  on  his  toes ;  another,  more  solemn,  was  urging  it  up  by 
crowding  his  chin  on  his  breast ;  another  jerked  it  out  by  a 
twist  of  his  head;  while  one  quiet  old  man,  whose  face 
beamed  with  tranquillity,  just  stood,  in  perfect  ecstasy,  and  let 
the  melody  run  out  of  his  nose.  The  genius  on  the  clarionet 
blew  as  if  he  were  blowing  his  last.  His  cheeks  were  bloated, 
his  eyes  were  wild  and  extended,  and  his  head  danced  this 
way  and  that,  keeping  time  with  his  fingers ;  and  he  who 
sawed  the  viol,  tore  away  upon  his  instrument  with  a  kind  of 
ferocity,  as  if  he  were  determined  to  commit  some  violence 
upon  it.  But  the  treble  —  what  shall  I  say  of  it  ?  'Aunt 
Graves '  was  no  where  to  be  seen,  after  the  *  parts '  had  got 
into  full  play;  she  put  on  the  power  of  her  voice,  and 
'drowned  out'  everything  around  her  at  once;  and  then, 
rising  higher  and  higher,  she  rushed  through  the  notes,  the 
choir  in  full  chase  after  her,  and  absolutely  came  out  safely 
at  last,  and  struck  upon  her  feet,  without  injuring  herself  or 
any  one  else. 

When  this  performance  closed,  quite  an  air  of  self-satis 
faction  played  over  the  faces  of  all,  declaring  clearly  enough 
that  their  business  was  over  for  an  hour  at  least.  In  fact 
'Aunt  Graves'  was  entirely  out  of  breath,  and  remained  in  a 
languishing  state  for  several  minutes.  So  they  busied  them 
selves  the  best  way  they  could.  They  gazed  at  every  person 
in  the  house  except  the  preacher,  and  did  every  thing  but 
worship.  I  noticed  that  it  was  very  difficult  for  the  female 
portion  to  'get  into  position.'  They  tried  a  lounge  and  a 
lean,  an  averted  face  and  a  full  one.  Then  their  bonnet- 
strings  troubled  them,  and  then  their  shawls  •  and  now  a  lock 


ARGUMENTUM   AD   HOMINEM.  61 

of  hair  got  astray,  and  then  something  else.  The  men  were 
as  philosophical  and  indifferent  as  so  many  players  at  a  show. 
He  of  the  clarionet  once  so  far  forgot  the  day  as  to  raise  his 
instrument  to  the  window  and  take  a  peep  though  it,  so  that 
he  might  detect  its  air-holes,  if  any  there  were ;  and  he  after 
ward  amused  himself  and  me,  a  long  time,  by  gravely  lick 
ing  down  its  tow  bandage,  so  that  it  might  be  in  condition 
when  called  upon  to  perform  again.  In  fact,  the  Puddle- 
ford  choir  was  very  much  like  choirs  in  all  other  places. 

By  and  by,  Bigelow  took  his  stand,  preparatory  to  his  ser 
mon.  I  do  not  intend  to  follow  Bigelow  through  his  dis 
course,  because  I  could  not  do  so  if  I  attempted  it ;  nor  would 
it  be  of  any  importance  to  the  reader,  if  I  could.  He  said 
he  would  not  take  any  text,  but  he  would  preach  a  sermon 
that  would  suit  a  hundred  texts.  He  did  not  like  to  confine 
himself  to  any  particular  portion  of  the  Bible ;  but  wished 
to  retain  the  privilege  of  following  up  the  manifold  sins  of 
his  congregation,  in  whomsoever  or  wherever  they  existed, 
He  then  launched  himself  forth,  denouncing,  in  the  first 
place,  the  sin  of  profanity,  which  is  very  common  in  all  new 
countries,  evidently  having  in  view  two  or  three  of  his  hearers 
who  were  notoriously  profane;  and  after  considering  the 
question  generally,  he  declared,  '  that  of  all  sinners,  the  pro 
fane  man  is  the  greatest  fool,  because  he  receives  nothing  for 
his  wickedness.  A'  n't  that  true,  Luke  Smith  ? '  he  continued, 
as  he  reached  out  his  finger  toward  Luke,  whose  daily  con 
versation  was  a  string  of  oaths ; '  a'  n't  that  true  ?  How  much 
have  you  made  by  it  ?  —  answer  to  me,  and  this  congregation.' 
Luke  quivered  as  if  a  shock  of  electricity  had  passed  through 
him. 

Bigelow  then  gave  a  short  history  of  his  own  sins  in  that 
line  at  an  early  day,  before  he  entered  the  pulpit,  when  he 
was  young  and  surrounded  by  temptations ;  but,  he  said,  he 


62  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

reformed  at  last,  and  every  other  man  might  do  so  by  the 
same  means.  '  When  you  feel  yourself  swelling  with  a  big 
oath  —  for  every  man  feels  'em  inside  before  they  break  out,' 
exclaimed  Bigelow,  'jump  up  and  cry  'Jezebel ! '  three  times 
in  succession,  and  you  '11  feel  as  calm  as  an  infant.  This,'  he 
continued,  'lets  off  the  feeling  without  the  commission  of  sin, 
and  leaves  the  system  healthy.' 

He  next  considered  the  sin  of  Sabbath-breaking;  and  he 
poured  down  the  melting  lava  upon  the  heads  of  his  hearers 
with  a  strength  and  ingenuity  that  I  have  seldom  seen  equal 
led.  '  Men,'  he  said,  '  would  labor  harder  to  break  the  Sab 
bath,  than  they  would  for  bread.  They  would  chase  a  deer 
from  morning  till  night  on  this  holy  day,  kill  him,  and  then 
throw  the  carcass  away  ;  but  week-days  they  lounge  about 
some  Puddleford  dram-shop,  while  their  families  were  suffer 
ing.  Men,  too,'  he  continued,  'fish  on  Sundays,  because  the 
devil  has  informed  them  that  fish  bite  better.  It  is  the 
devil  himself  who  does  the  biting,  not  the  fish ;  it  is  he  who 
is  fishing  for  you  ;  for  Bill  Larkin,  and  Sam.  Trimble,  and 
Hugh  Williams,  and  scores  of  others;  he's  got  you  now 
and  you  will  be  scaled  and  dressed  for  his  table  unless  you 
escape  instantly ; '  and  then,  to  impress  his  illustration,  he 
soared  away  into  a  flight  of  eloquence  just  suited  to  his 
hearers;  rough  and  fiery,  plain  and  pointed,  neither  above 
nor  below  the  capacity  of  those  he  addressed. 

Bigelow  then  made  a  descent  upon  lying  and  liars.  He 
regretted  to  say  that  this  sin  was  very  common  in  the  church. 
'  He  had  a  dozen  complaints  before  him  now,  undecided ; ' 
and  he  detailed  a  few  of  them,  as  specimens  of  the  depravity 
of  the  human  heart.'  He  '  did  n't  want  to  hear  any  more 
of  them,  as  he  had  something  else  to  do,  beside  taking 
charge  of  the  tongues  of  his  church.' 

Then  came  an  exhortation  on  duties ;  and  almost  every 


SUCCESS    UNDER   DIFFICULTIES.  63 

practical  virtue  was  mentioned  and  impressed.  Early- 
rising,  industry,  economy,  modesty,  contentment,  etc.,  etc.,  all 
received  a  notice  at  his  hands.  *  Do  n't  sleep  yourselves  to 
death  ! '  exclaimed  Bigelow ;  '  rise  early  !  work  !  for  while 
you  sleep,  the  Enemy  will  sow  your  fields  full  of  tares ;  and 
the  only  way  to  keep  him  out  is  to  be  on  the  spot  yourself! ' 
This  was  a  literal  application  of  the  parable,  it  is  true;  yet  it 
was  very  well  done,  and  productive,  I  have  no  doubt,  of  some 
good. 

Bigelow  closed  in  a  most  tempestuous  manner.  He  was 
eloquent,  sarcastic,  and  comical,  by  turns.  He  had  taken  off 
nearly  all  his  clothes,  except  his  pantaloons,  shirt,  and  sus 
penders  ;  a  custom  among  a  certain  class  of  western  preachers, 
however  strange  it  may  appear  to  many  readers.  Streams  of 
perspiration  were  running  down  his  face  and  neck ;  his  hair 
was  in  confusion ;  and  altogether,  he  presented  the  appear 
ance  of  a  man  who  had  passed  through  some  convulsion  of 
nature,  and  barely  escaped  with  his  life. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  that  Bigelow  was  entitled  to 
great  credit,  not  only  for  the  matter  his  sermon  contained, 
but  in  being  able  to  deliver  a  sermon  at  all  amid  the  con 
fusion  which  often  surrounded  him.  There  were  a  dozen  or 
more  infants  in  the  crowd,  some  crowing,  some  crying,  and 
some  chattering.  One  elderly  lady,  in  particular,  had  in 
charge  one  of  these  responsibilities,  that  seemed  to  set  the 
place  and  the  preacher  at  defiance.  She  tried  every  expedient 
to  quiet  the  little  nuisance,  but  it  was  of  '  no  use.'  She  sat 
it  down,  laid  it  down,  turned  it  around,  nursed  it,  chirped  at 
it ;  and  finally,  giving  up  in  despair,  she  placed  it  on  her 
knee,  the  child  roaring  at  the  top  of  its  lungs,  and  commenced 
trotting  it  in  the  very  face  of  the  audience.  This  operation 
cut  up  the  music  of  the  innocent,  and  threw  it  out  in  short, 
quick  jerks,  very  agreeable  to  the  preacher  and  congrega 
tion. 


64  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

An  excellent  old  woman  also  sat  directly  in  front  of  Bige- 
low,  her  left  elbow  resting  on  her  knee,  which  she  swayed  to 
and  fro  with  a  sigh.  Her  face  lay  devoutly  in  the  palm  of 
her  hand,  while  her  right  thumb  and  fore-finger  held  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  which  she  every  now  and  then  slowly  breathed  up 
a  hawk-bill  nose,  with  a  long-drawn  whistle,  something  after 
the  sort  that -broke  forth  from  the  clarionet  a  while  before. 
She  then  blew  a  blast  into  a  faded  cotton  handkerchief,  that 
reverberated  like  the  voice  of  'many  trumpets.'  This  was 
followed  by  fits  of  coughing,  and  sneezing,  and  sighing ;  in 
fact,  she  sounded  as  great  a  variety  of  notes  as  the  choir 
itself. 

Beside  all  this,  a  troop  of  dogs  who  had  followed  their 
masters  were  continually  marching  up  and  down  the  chapel ; 
and  when  any  unusual  excitement  occurred  with  Bigelow,  or 
any  one  else,  as  there  did  several  times,  we  had  a  barking- 
chorus,  which  threatened  to  suspend  the  whole  meeting. 
Bigelow,  however,  did  n't  mind  any  or  all  of  these  things ; 
but,  like  a  skillful  engineer,  he  put  on  the  more  steam,  and 
ran  down  every  obstacle  in  his  way. 

Reader,  I  have  given  you  a  description  of  the  log-chapel 
at  Puddleford.  It  is  like  a  thousand  other  places  of  public 
worship  in  a  '  new  country.'  If  there  is  something  to  con 
demn,  there  is  more  to  praise.  There  seems  to  be  a  provi 
dence  in  this,  as  in  all  other  things.  The  settlers  in  a  forest 
are  a  rough,  hardy,  and  generally  an  honest  race  of  men. 
It  is  their  business  to  hew  down  the  wilderness,  and  prepare 
the  way  for  a  different  class  who  will  surely  follow  them. 
They  cannot  cultivate  their  minds  to  any  extent,  or  refine 
their  characters.  They  must  be  reached  through  the  pulpit 
by  such  means  as  will  reach  them.  Of  what  importance  is 
a  nice  theological  distinction  with  them  ?  Of  what  force  a 
labored  pulpit  disquisition  ?  They  have  great  vices  and  strong 


SABBATH  IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  65 

virtues.  Their  vices  must  be  smitten  and  scattered  with  a 
sledge-hammer ;  they  are  not  to  be  played  with  in  a  flourish 
of  rhetoric.  Just  such  a  human  tornado  as  Bigelow,  is  the 
man  for  the  place :  he  may  commit  some  mischief,  but  he 
will  leave  behind  him  a  purer  moral  atmosphere,  and  a 
serener  sky. 

Society,  in  such  a  place  as  Puddleford,  is  cultivated  very 
much  like  its  soil.  Both  lie  in  a  state  of  rude  nature,  and 
both  must  be  improved.  The  great  *  breaking-plough,7  with 
its  dozen  yoke  of  cattle,  in  the  first  place,  goes  tearing  and 
groaning  through  the  roots  and  grubs  that  lie  twisted  under 
it,  just  as  Bigelow  tore  and  groaned  through  the  stupidity 
and  wickedness  of  his  hearers.  Then  comes  the  green  grass, 
and  wheat,  and  flowers,  as  years  draw  on  ;  producing,  at  last, 
'some  sixty,  and  some  an  hundred-fold.' 

There  is  something  impressive  in  the  Sabbath  in  the 
wilderness.  A  quiet  breathes  over  the  landscape  that  is  almost 
overwhelming.  In  a  city,  the  church- steeples  talk  to  one 
another  their  lofty  music;  but  there  are  no  bells  in  the 
wilderness  to  mark  the  hours  of  worship.  The  only  bell 
which  is  heard  is  rung  by  Memory,  as  the  hour  of  prayer 
draws  nigh ;  some  village-bell,  far  away,  that  vibrated  over 
the  hills  of  our  nativity,  the  tones  of  which  we  have  carried 
away  in  our  soul,  and  which  are  awakened  by  the  solemnity 
of  the  day. 

There  is  a  philosophy  in  all  this,  if  we  will  but  see  it : 
there  is  more ;  there  is  a  lesson,  possibly  a  reproof.  If  we 
are  disposed  to  smile  at  the  rusticity  of  a  Puddleford  church, 
may  we  not  with  equal  reason  become  serious  over  the  over 
grown  refinement  of  many  another  ?  May  not  something  be 
learned  in  the  very  contrast  which  is  thus  afforded  ?  Do  not 
the  extravagant  hyperbole,  coarse  allusions,  irreverent  anec- 
,  and  strong  but  unpolished  shafts  of  sarcasm,  that  such 


66  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

as  Bigelow  so  unsparingly  scatter  over  the  sanctuary,  give  a 
rich  back-ground  and  strong  relief  to  the  finished  rhetoric  of 
many  a  pulpit  essay,  that  has  been  written  to  play  with  the 
fancy  and  tranquillize  the  nerves  of  a  refined  arid  fashionable 
audience  ?  Are  not  the  extremes  equally  ridiculous  :  the  one 
not  having  reached,  the  other  having  passed  the  zenith  ? 


THE    FISH    HARVEST.  67 


CHAPTER  V. 

Indian  Summer — Venison  Styles  again  —  Jim  Buzzard  —  Fishing  Ex 
cursion —  Muskrat  City  —  Indian  Bury  ing-ground  —  the  Pickerel 
and  the  rest  of  the  Fishes— the  Prairie— Wild  Geese  — the  Old 
Mound  —  Yenison's  regrets  at  the  degenerating  times  —  His  luck, 
and  mine  —  Reminiscences  of  the  Beavers  —  Camping  out  —  Safe 
Return. 

INDIAN  summer  had  not  yet  taken  her  bow  from  the 
woods  or  her  breath  from  the  sky.  Old  Autumn  still  lay 
asleep ;  Time  stood  by,  with  his  hour-glass  erect,  slowly  count 
ing  the  palpitations  of  his  heart. 

Venison  Styles  appointed  a  day  for  a  fishing  excursion, 
and  was  desirous  of  my  company ;  so,  on  one  of  those  bright 
mornings,  we  might  have  been  seen  loading  our  gear  into 
the  boat,  preparatory  to  a  night's  lodging  in  the  woods.  We 
were  accompanied  by  'Jim  Buzzard,'  a  genuine  Puddlcford- 
ian,  whom  we  took  along  to  do  up  the  little  pieces  of  drudg 
ery  that  always  attend  such  an  expedition. 

Puddleford  was  a  wonderful  place  for  fish-eaters,  and  the 
only  real  harvest  the  villagers  had  was  the  fish-harvest.  One 
half  of  Puddleford  lived  on  fish,  and  every  body  fished.  But 
our  'Jin;  Buzzard'  was  a  character  in  fish,  and  I  could  never 
excuse  myself  if  I  should  pass  him  over  unnoticed. 

Where  'Jim'  was  born  —  who  was  his  father  or  mo 
ther  —  and  whether  he  actually  ever  had  any,  are  questions 
that  no  mortal  man  was  ever  yet  able  to  answer.  He  ap 
peared  one  spring  morning  in  Puddleford  with  the  swallows. 
The  first  thing  seen  of  him  he  was  sitting,  about  sunrise,  on 


68  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

an  old  dry-goods'  box,  at  the  corner  of  a  street,  whistling  a 
variety  of  lively  airs.  The  crown  was  dangling  from  the  top 
of  his  hat,  he  was  shirtless  and  tmshaved,  and  his  shoes  gaped 
horribly  at  the  public. 

'Jim '  was  a  genuine  loafer,  and  loafers,  you  know,  reader, 
pervade  every  place,  and  are  always  the  same.  There  is  a 
certain  class  of  animals  that  are  said  to  follow  civilization,  as 
sharks  follow  in  the  wake  of  a  ship,  and  generally  for  the 
same  reason,  to  pick  up  what  they  can  find.  Rats  and  loaf 
ers  belong  to  this  class,  and  there  is  no  human  ingenuity 
shrewd  enough  to  keep  them  off :  their  appearance  seems  to 
be  a  simple  fulfilment  of  a  law  of  nature. 

Jim  Buzzard  was  a  fisher,  too,  and  nothing  but  a  fisher. 
He  would  sit  on  an  old  log  by  the  bank  of  the  river,  and 
hold  a  pole  from  morning  until  night.  If  the  fish  would 
bite,  very  well ;  if  they  would  not,  very  well.  Ill-luck  never 
roused  his  wrath,  because  there  was  no  wrath  in  him  to 
arouse.  He  was  a  true  philosopher,  and  was  entirely  too 
lazy  to  get  into  a  passion.  Jim  knew  that  the  fish  would  bite 
to-morrow,  or  next  day,  if  they  did  n't  to-day.  He  was 
happy,  completely  so ;  that  is,  as  completely  happy  as  the 
world  will  admit.  He  did  n't  envy  any  body  —  not  he.  All 
his  wants  were  supplied,  and  what  did  he  care  about  the  pos 
sessions  of  his  neighbors  ?  He  never  realized  any  future,  here 
or  hereafter.  Jim  never  lay  awake  nights,  thinking  about 
where  he  would  be,  or  what  he  should  have,  next  week.  He 
did  n't  know  as  there  was  any  next  week.  He  knew  the  sun 
rose  and  set,  which  was  all  the  time  he  ever  measured  at 
once.  Well,  as  I  said,  Jim  made  one  of  our  company. 

Our  boat  was  finally  loaded,  our  crew  shipped,  and  we 
shot  forth  into  the  stream.  The  water  lay  as  smooth  as 
glass,  and  the  reflected  colors  of  the  blazing  trees  that  hung 
over  it  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  carpet.  The  headlands 


THE   MUSKRATS.  69 

put  out  here  and  there,  intersected  by  long  gores  of  marsh, 
that  ran  away  a  mile  or  more  in  the  distance. 

Upon  one  of  these  marshes  a  city  had  been  reared  by  the 
muskrats,  which  presented  an  interesting  appearance.  Hun 
dreds  of  huts  had  been  erected  by  this  busy  population, 
intended  by  them  as  their  winter  quarters,  composed  of  grass 
and  sticks  and  mud,  and  hoisted  up  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
spring  floods.  Each  one  was  a  little  palace,  and  the  whole 
sat  upon  the  water  like  a  miniature  Venice.  Here  huts 
were  entered  by  diving  down,  the  front  door  being  always 
concealed  to  prevent  intrusion.  Up  and  down  the  canals  of 
this  city  the  inhabitants  gossiped  and  gambolled  by  moon 
light,  like  those  of  every  other  gay  place.  They  had  their 
routs,  and  cotillons,  and  suppers,  in  all  human  probability, 
and  for  aught  I  know  drank  themselves  stupid.  Perhaps 
they  kept  up  an  opera.  I  say  perhaps  —  we  know  so  little 
of  the  inner  life  of  these  strange  creatures,  that  we  may 
draw  upon  the  imagination  in  regard  to  their  amusements  as 
much  as  we  please.  If  any  transcendental  muskrat  should 
ever  write  the  history  of  this  colony,  I  will  forward  it  to  the 
newspapers  by  the  first  mail. 

Venison  said,  '  we  were  going  to  have  a  wet  time  on't, 
cause  the  rats  had  built  so  high,  and  the  whole  mash  would 
be  covered  bym-bye,  by  the  rains.'  He  said,  '  muskrats 
know'd  more  nor  men  about  times  ahead,  and  fixed  up 
things  'cordingly.' 

Our  boat  glided  along  until  we  came  in  sight  of  a  huge 
bluff  that  had  pushed  itself  half  across  the  stream.  A  me 
lancholy  fragment  of  one  of  the  tribes  of  Indians,  who  once 
held  the  sovereignty  of  the  soil,  and  who  had  escaped  a 
removal,  or  had  wandered  back  from  their  banishment,  were 
clustered  upon  it.  They  had  erected  a  long  pole,  and  gath 
ered  themselves,  hand  in  hand,  in  a  circle  about  it ;  within 


70  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE- 

this  circle,  their  medicines  and  apparel  worn  in  worship  lay 
for  consecration.  The  plaintive  chant  was  heard  melting 
along  the  waters,  as  they  wheeled  round  and  round  in  their 
solemn  service.  I  have  never  looked  upon  a  more  touching 
exhibition.-  Most  of  these  Indians  were  very  old  ;  they  had 
outlived  their  tribe,  their  country,  their  glory  —  every  thing 
but  their  ceremonies  and  themselves.  What  a  beautiful  tri 
bute  was  this  to  the  past !  a  handful  of  worshippers  linger 
ing  round  the  broken  altar  of  their  temple,  and  hallowing 
its  very  ruins. 

Near  by,  and  on  the  southern  slope  of  the  bluff  lay  the 
remains  of  an  extensive  Indian  bury  ing-ground.  No  white 
man  could  tell  its  age.  Large  oaks,  centuries  old,  that  had 
grown  since  the  dead  were  first  deposited  there,  stood  up 
over  the  •  graves.  No  monuments  of  stone  designated  the 
thousands  of  sleepers  —  the  living  themselves  were  the  mon 
uments  of  the  dead.  "Weapons  of  war  and  peace  were 
scattered  beneath  the  turf,  mixed  with  crumbling  human 
bones. 

What  were  this  little  band  of  red  men,  thought  I,  but  so 
many  autumn  leaves  ?  A  few  years  more,  and  the  solitary 
boat  as  it  turns  this  headland,  will  find  no  warrior  kneeling 
on  its  height.  The  Great  Spirit  will  brood  alone  over  the 
solitude. 

By  and  by,  we  turned  into  a  bay,  sheltered  by  an  over 
hanging  cliff,  where  we  cast  our  anchor,  and  made  ready  for 
work.  The  water  was  transparent,  and  the  shining  pebbles 
glittered  in  the  sandy  depths  below.  Shoals  of  fish  had 
gathered  in  this  nook,  beyond  the  strife  of  waters.  The 
sun-fish,  his  back  all  bristling  with  rage,  ploughed  around 
with  as  much  ferocity  as  a  privateer ;  the  checkered  perch 
lazily  rolled  from  side  to  side,  as  his  breath  came  and  went ; 
the  little  silver  dace  darted  and  flashed  through  eacli  other 


THE   PRAIRIE.  71 

their  streams  of  light ;  and  away  off,  all  alone,  the  pickerel 
that  terror  of  the  pool,  stood  as  still  and  dart-like  as  the 
vane  of  a  steeple. 

This  congregation  reminded  me  of  the  stir  we  sometimes 
find  in  the  ports  of  a  city.  They  seemed  to  have  much 
business  on  hand.  They  were  continually  putting  out  and 
putting  in;  sometimes  alone  and  sometimes  in  fleets.  I 
noticed  an  indolent  old  '  sucker,'  who  made  several  unsuc 
cessful  attempts  to  reach  the  current,  and  get  under  head 
way.  Once  in  a  •while,  a  fish  would  come  dashing  in  from 
above,  like  a  ship  before  a  gale,  throwing  the  whole  com 
munity  into  an  uproar. 

Below  us,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river,  stretched  a  prairie 
which  was  several  miles  in  circumference.  It  was  dotted, 
here  and  there,  with  a  settler's  cabin,  but  the  greater  part 
yet  lay  in  the  wild  luxuriance  of  nature.  It  was  surrounded 
by  the  forest,  and  long  points  of  woodland  pierced  it,  now 
glowing  like  a  flame.  Shooting  back  and  forth,  the  prairie- 
hens  sailed  across  it,  like  boats  upon  the  main.  The  sky  above 
it  was  filled  with  hawks,  sweeping  round  and  round  in  search 
Of  prey  —  now  they  rested  upon  their  outspread  wings  — 
then  plunged  through  a  long-drawn  curve  —  then  gracefully 
moved  near  the  earth  in  downward  circles,  as  some  object 
was  discovered,  winnowing  awhile  above  it,  to  make  sure  of 
its  nature  and  position,  and  rising  once  more,  and  turning 
with  lightning  quickness,  away  they  rushed  upon  their  quarry, 
and  soared  away  with  it  on  high. 

In  the  depth  of  winter,  when  the  lakes  and  rivers  are 
bound  in  ice,  vast  bodies  of  geese  assemble  there.  Acres 
of  ground  are  coverecl,  and  they  storm  about  their  camp 
like  an  army  of  soldiers.  Some  commamding  elevation,  far 
out  from  shore,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  hunter's  gun,  is 
selected.  When  disturbed,  their  sentinels  blow  the  alarm, 


72  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

and  away  they  go,  piping  their  dismal  dirge,  until  it  dies 
away  in  the  sky.  By  day-break  the  next  morning,  they  are 
on  the  ground  again,  as  tranquil  as  though  nothing  had 
happened. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  trap  these  wanderers.  Before 
they  establish  their  quarters,  they  study  the  landscape  with 
the  eye  of  a  painter.  They  take  a  dagucrrian  view  of  ob 
jects  as  they  are.  The  log-hut,  with  its  curling  smoke  — 
the  hay-stack  crowned  with  snow —  the  settler's  cart  tipped 
up,  its  tongue  pointing  toward  the  North  star  —  a  goose 
understands  as  well  as  a  man.  They  never  blow  up  nor  work 
destruction.  But  just  try  an  arti6cial  house  of  boughs,  a 
brush  fence,  or  an  entrenchment  near  their  lines.  They  see 
the  plot  at  a  glance,  and  draw  out  of  harm's  way,  and  pitch 
their  snowy  tents  again,  beyond  its  reach.  As  well  chase 
the  fabled  island,  as  a  flock  of  wild  geese. 

Not  far  below  this  prairie,  near  the  bank  of  the  river,  a 
venerable  mound  reared  its  solitary  head.  It  was  thinly 
covered  with  oaks,  and  belonged  to  Oblivion.  It  was  one 
of  the  few  feathers  that  time  had  cast  in  his  flight,  to  mark 
the  past,  and  confuse  the  present.  It  looked  like  a  hand 
reached  out  from  eternity;  but  whose  hand?  Aye,  whose? 
Who  built  it  ?  When  ?  Why  ?  It  was  filled  with  all  kind 
of  strange  things  that  had  been  planted  there  by  a  busy  race 
who  were  unable  to  preserve  their  own  history.  Their  works 
had  outlived  themselves ;  but  they  cannot  talk  to  us,  nor 
tell  us  what  they  are,  nor  who  fashioned  them.  There  it 
stands,  gazing  dumbly  at  all  who  look  upon  it,  a  sad  lesson 
to  individual  pride,  or  national  glory. 

Venison  did  not  seem  quite  satisfied  with  the  prospect  of 
catching  fish  in  the  little  bay.  "Taint  as  it  used  to  be/ 
sighed  the  old  hunter.  *  Before  the  woods  were  cut  down, 
and  them  are  dams  built,'  said  he,  l  the  whole  river  was  alive 


JIM   ASLEEP.  73 

with  all  sorts  of  fish.  In  the  spring-time  the  salmon-trout 
and  sturgeon  used  to  come  up  out  of  the  lakes  to  feed,  but 
they  can  't  get  up  any  more.  They  keep  trying  it  every 
year  yet,  and  thousands  on  'em  may  be  seen  packed  in  below 
old  Jones'  dam,  'long  'bout  April,  waiting  and  waiting  for  ifc 
to  go  off.  For  I  s'pose  they  think  'taint  nothing  but  flood- 
wood  lodged.' 

*  Why  do  n't  they  climb  it  ? '  inquired  I. 

*  When  the  water  is  very  high  up,  and  there  arnt  much 
of  a  riffle  there,  they  will  sometimes ;  but  they  can 't  climb 
like  them  speckled  trout  —  they  '11  go  right  up  a  mountain 
stream,  and  make  nothing  on't  —  them  fellers  beat  all  nater 
for  going  any  where.' 

However,  as  I  said  somewhere  back  in  my  narrative,  we 
made  ready  for  work.  We  looked  around  for  Jim  Buzzard, 
and  found  him  sitting  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  his  legs 
sprawled  out,  his  head  dropped  on  his  chin,  his  ragged  hat 
cocked  on  one  side,  fast  asleep.  There  was  an  ease  and  self- 
abandonment  about  his  appearance  that  were  really  beautiful. 
Jim  could  sleep  any  where  —  some  people  can 't.  He  was 
never  nervous.  He  never  had  any  spasms  about  some 
thing  that  could  never  occur.  He  had  no  notes  falling 
due — no  crops  in  the  ground  —  no  merchandize  on  his 
hands  —  no  property,  except  the  little  he  carried  on  bis  back, 
and  that  he  did  n't  really  own ;  it  was  given  to  him  —  he  was 
no  candidate  for  office,  and  did  n't  even  know  or  care  who 
was  President  —  all  administrations  were  alike  to  him,  for 
all  had  treated  him  well.  He  never  flew  into  a  passion 
because  some  persons  slandered  him,  because  he  had  no 
character  to  injure. 

*  Hallo,  Jim ! '  I  screamed,  with  my  mouth  to  his  ear, 
'the  boat  is  sinking.' 

He  gaped",  and  groaned,  and  stretched  a  few  times,  and 
4 


74  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

finally  opened  his  eyes,  and  adjusted  his  hat,  and  looking  up 
at  me:  '  Let-er  sink,  then,'  he  replied,  '  we  can  get-er  up 
agin.' 

'  Stir  around !  stir  around,  Jim  ! '  I  exclaimed  ;  '  the  fish 
are  waiting  for  our  bait ;  out  with  your  pole.' 

He  said,  '/ie^as  goin'  overboard  arter  fresh-water  clams — 
kase  they  were  good  with  salt,  and  any  body  could  eat  'em,' 
and  rolling  up  his  breeches,  over  he  went,  and  moving  away 
down  near  a  sandy  beach,  he  commenced  digging  his  clams- 
with  his  feet,  and  piling  them  up  on  shore  by  his  side. 

Venison  and  myself  dashed  our  lines  overboard.  1 
watched  every  movement  of  the  old  hunter.  He  went 
through  as  many  ceremonies  as  a  magician  working  a  charra. 
His  *  minnys,'  (minnows,)  as  he  called  them,  were  hooked 
tenderly  at  a  particular  place  in  the  back,  so  that  they  might 
shoot  around  in  the  water,  without  dying  in  the  effort ;  liis 
hook  was  pointed  in  a  certain  direction,  so  as  to  catch  at  the 
first  bite  ;  he  then  spit  upon  the  bait,  and  swinging  the  line 
a  few  times  in  circles,  he  threw  it  far  out  in  the  stream. 

*  That  '11  bring  a  bass,  pickerel,  or  something,'  said  he,  as 
it  struck  the  water. 

Soon  the  pole  bent,  and  Venison  sprang  upon  it.  '  Pull 
him  out  I'  exclaimed  I. 

'Don't  never  hurry  big  fish,'  replied  he;  'let  him  play 
round  a  little ;  he  '11  grow  weak  bym-bye,  and  come  right 
along  into  the  boat,'  and  accordingly,  Venison  '  let  him 
play ; '  he  managed  the  fish  with  all  that  refinement  in  the 
art  that  sportsmen  know  so  weH  how  to  appreciate  ami 
enjoy.  Sometimes  it  raced  far  up  the  stream,  then  far  down  ; 
and  once,  as  the  line  brought  it  u^on  a  downward  trip,  it 
bounded  into  the  air,  and  turned  two  or  three  summersets 
that  shook  the  silver  drops  of  water  from  its  fins.  After  a 
while,  it  became  exhausted,  and  Venison  slowly  drew  him 


MY   LUCK.  75 

into  the  boat,  all  breathless  and  panting ;  a  famous  pickerel, 
four  feet  long  and  *  well  proportioned.' 

My  poles,  all  this  time,  remained  just  where  I  first  placed 
them  —  not  a  nibble,  as  I  knew.  Some  very  wicked  people 
I  have  been  informed,  swear  at  fish  when  they  refuse  to  bite 
—  but  I  did  not  —  because  I  have  never  been  able  to  see 
why  they  were  to  blame,  or  why  swearing  would  reform  them, 
if  they  were.  It  was  no  very  good  reason  that  they  should 
take  hold  of  one  end  of  my  pole  and  line,  because  I  hap 
pened  to  be  at  the  other. 

Not  having  much  luck  with  big  fish,  I  concluded  to 
amuse  the  '  small  fry.'  So  out  went  my  hook  ker-slump 
right  down  in  the  midst  of  a  great  gathering,  who  seemed 
to  have  met  on  some  business  of  importance.  It  was  a  little 
curious  to  watch  these  finny  fellows  as  they  eyed  my  worm. 
They  swept  round  it  in  a  circle,  a  few  times,  and  coming  up 
with  a  halt,  and  forming  themselves  abreast,  they  rocked  up 
and  down  from  head  to  tail,  as  they  surveyed  the  thing. 
By  and  by,  a  perch,  a  little  more  venturesome  than  the 
rest,  floated  up  by  degrees  to  the  bait,  his  white  fins  slowly 
moving  back  and  forth,  and  carefully  reaching  out  his  nose, 
he  touched  it,  wheeled,  and  shot  like  a  dart  out  of  sight. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  came  round  in  the  rear  of  the  company, 
to  await  further  experiments.  Next  came  the  sun-fish,  jerk 
ing  along,  filled  with  fire  and  fury,  with  a  kind  of  who  V 
afraid  sort  of  look,  and  striking  at  my  hook,  actually  caught 
the  tip  of  the  barb,  and  I  turned  the  fellow  topsy-turvy, 
showing  up  his  yellow  to  advantage.  He  left  for  parts  un 
known.  There  was  a  small  bass  who  had  strayed  into  the 
community,  whom  I  was  anxious  to  coax  into  trouble,  but  he 
lay  off  on  his  dignity,  near  an  old  root,  to  see  the  fun.  1 
moved  my  hook  toward  him.  He  shot  off  and  turned 
head-to,  with  a  no-you-don  't  sort  of  air.  I  took  my  bait 


76  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

from  the  water  and  spit  on  it,  but  it  would  n't  do.  I  took 
it  out  again,  and  went  through  an  incantation  over  it,  but  I 
could  n't  catch  him  by  magic ;  and  I  have  no  doubt,  reader, 
he  is  there  yet. 

Venison,  every  little  while,  dragged  another  and  another 
pickerel  aboard.  Pretty  soon  we  had  Jim  Buzzard  cleaning 
fish,  and  packing  away  in  a  barrel,  with  a  little  sprinkling 
of  salt. 

I  gathered  in  my  lines,  arose,  and  thanked  the  whole 
tribe  of  fish  generally  and  particularly,  for  their  attendance 
upon  me,  and  promised  not  to  trouble  them  for  a  month  at 
least. 

The  sun  was  waning  low,  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
were  pointing  across  the  river.  The  clouds  in  the  west 
gathered  themselves  into  all  kinds  of  pictures,  There  was 
a  fleet  of  ships,  all  on  fire,  in  full  sail,  far  out  at  sea ;  the 
fleet  dissolved,  and  a  city  rose  out  of  its  ruins,  filled  with 
temples,  and  domes,  and  turrets,  and  divided  into  streets, 
up  and  down  which  strange  and  fantastic  figures  were  hur 
rying.  The  city  vanished,  and  a  pile  of  huge  mountains 
shot  up  their  rugged  peaks,  around  which  golden  islands  lay 
anchored,  all  glowing  with  light.  Away  one  side,  I  noticed 
a  grave,  corpulent  and  shadowy  old  gentleman,  astride  an 
elephant,  smoking  a  pipe,  and  he  puffed  himself  finally  away 
into  the  heavens,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since  —  a 
solemn  warning  lo  persons  who  use  tobacco. 

Venison  said :  '  We  had  better  hunt  up  our  camping- 
ground,  for  his  stomach  was  getting  holler,  and  he  wanted 
to  fill  it  up.' 

Below  us,  a  sparkling  stream  put  into  the  river.  Just 
above  it,  a  mile  or  so,  lay  a  broad  lake,  which  was  fed  from 
this  same  stream — it  came  in  from  the  wilderness.  We 
started  for  this  lake,  and  wound  our  way  up  this  little  creek 


THE    BEAVERS.  77 

amid  the  struggling  shafts  of  sun-light  that  hung  over  it. 
The  water-fowl  were  hurrying  past  us,  toward  the  same  spot, 
to  take  up  their  night's  lodging,  and  we  drove  flocks  of 
them  ahead  as  we  crowded  upon  them.  The  dip  of  our 
oars  echoed  among  the  'shadows.  We  reached  our  ground, 
unloaded  our  gear  and  prepared  for  the  night. 

Venison  directed  Jim  Buzzard  to  build  a  "  stack"  and  get 
supper.  So,  a  pile  of  stone  was  laid  up,  with  a  flat  one 
across  the  top,  leaving  a  hole  behind  for  the  smoke  to  escape. 
Venison  knocked  over  a  gray  duck  on  the  lake  with  his  rifle, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  we  had  four  feet  of  pickerel  and 
that  self-same  duck  sprawled  out  on  the  hot  stone,  frying. 

Venison  was  rather  gloomy.  *  This/  said  he,  '  makes  me 
think  of  times  gone.  I  used  to  camp  here  all  alone,  years 
ago,  when  there  war'nt  no  settlers  for  miles.  I  used  to  catch 
otter  and  beaver  and  rat"  and  sleep  out  weeks  to  a  time.  But 
the  beaver  and  otter  are  gone.' 

*  Beaver  here  ?'  inquired  I. 

*  Why  not  more'n  nor  a  mile  or  so  up  this  creek,  I've  killed 
piles  on  'em.  Why,  I  seed  a  company  on  'em,  up  there,  once, 
of  two  or  three  hundred.     They  com'd  down  one  spring  and 
clear'd  off  acres  of  ground  that  had  grown  up  to  birch  sap 
lings,  that  they  wanted  to  build  a  dam  with,  and  there  they 
let  the  trees  lie  until  August.     Then  they  started  to  build 
their  houses  all  over  the  low  water  in  the  mash  —  great 
houses  four  or  five  feet  through  —  and  they  work'd  in  com 
panies  of  four  or  five  on  a  house  till  they  got  'em  done.  You 
jist  ought  to  see  'em  carry  mud  and  stones  between  their 
fore-paws  and  throat,  and  see  'em  lay  it  down  and  slap  it 
with  their  tails,  like  men  who  work  with  a  trowel.' 

'Well,'  said  I, '  about  those  trees  that  they  cleared  off?' 

*  When  they  got  'em  done,  then  they  all  jined  in  to  build 
a  dam,  to  raise  up  the  water,  so  't  would  n't  freeze  up  the 


78  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

doors  of  their  houses.'  And  then  there  was  a  time  on't.  You 
might  see  'era  by  moonlight,  pitching  in  the  trees,  and  swim 
ming  down  the  stream  with  'em,  and  laying  'em  in  the  cur 
rent  of  the  creek,  like  so  many  boys.' 

'  Pshaw ! '  said  I. 

1  Yes,  sir !  I  seed  one  night,  a  lot  of  beavers  drawing  one 
of  the  biggest  trees  they  had  cut.  It  was  more'n  six  inches 
through.  They  got  it  part  over  the  bank,  when  it  stuck  fast, 
Jest  the  top  of  the  tree  was  in  the  water,  and  there  were  foiu 
or  five  on  'em  sousing  round  in  the  water,  pulling  this  waj 
-nd  that,  and  as  many  more  on  the  bank  jerking  at  it,  until 
y^m-bye,  it  went  in  ker-swash ;  the  beavers  all  took  hold 

't,  then,  and  towed  it  to  the  dam.' 

'And  so  they  really  built  a  dam  ? ' 

<A  dam  three  feet  high,  and  forty  or  fifty  long  — all  laid 
i:  o  with  birch  trees,  and  mud  and  stoyes,  so  tight,  't  ain  t  gon< 
v  .:t.  The  beaver  have  gone  long  ago,  but  the  dam  hain't.' 

'  How  did  you  catch  'em  ? '  said  I. 

'  When  the  fur  is  good,  in  the  winter,  we  jest  went  rounc 
v  ith  our  ice-chisels  and  knocked  their  houses  to  pieces,  whei 
tway  they  would  go  for  their  washes,  as  we  used  to  call  'em 
where  we  fastened  'em  in  and  catch'd  'em.' 

'  Washes  ?  what  are  they  ? '  inquired  I. 

'  Holes  the  beavers  dig  in  the  bank,  partly  under  water 
where  they  can  run  in  and  breathe  without  being  seen.' 

Venison  was  going  on  to  tell  me  how  many  beaver  skin; 
he  got,  but  the  duck  and  fish  were  done,  and  had  been  divid 
ed  up  by  Jim  Buzzard,  and  handsomely  laid  out  on  a  piec< 
of  clean  bark,  ready  to  eat. 

We  ranged  ourselves  in  a  row,  squat  upon  the  ground  lik< 
so  many  Turks,  drew  our  hunting-knives,  and  went  to  work 
I  looked  out  upon  the  lake  that  lay  like  a  looking-glass 
draped  with  gauze,  at  my  feet.  Day  was  dying  over  it  lik 


CAMPING    OUT.  79 

a  strain  of  music.  One  slender  bar  of  light  lay  trembling 
along  its  eastern  shore.  By  and  by  it  crept  up  the  bank ; 
from  that  to  a  mound  behind,  and  from  which  it  took  a  leap 
to  a  hill  a  mile  distant,  where  it  faded  and  faded  into  twi 
light.  The  water-fowl  were  screaming  among  the  flags,  and  . 
I  noticed  a  belated  hawk  winging  his  way  through  the  air 
on  high,  to  his  home  in  the  forest.  I  coull  almost  hear  the 
winnowing  of  his  wings  in  the  silent  sky,  A  chick-a-dee-dee 
earne  bobbing  and  winding  down  an  oak  near  me,  for  the 
purpose  of  coaxing  a  supper.  The  trees  began  to  assume  un 
certain  shapes  —  the  aims  of  the  oaks  stretched  out  longer 
and  longer.  The  new  moon  grew  brighter  and  brighter  in 
the  west.  There  it  hung,  looking  down  into  the  lake.  The 
river  sent  up  its  hollow  roar,  the  mists  settled  thicker  and 
thicker,  and  solemn  night  at  last  came  down  over  the  wilder 
ness. 

After  I  had  finished  my  watch  of  departing  day,  I  looked 
around  for  my  company.  '  Jim'  had  been  stuffing  himself 
for  the  last  half  hour,  until  he  had  grown  as  stupid  as  an 
over-fed  anaconda.  His  jaws  were  moving  very  slowly  over 
the  bone  of  a  duck  —  his  eyes  were  drowsy — and  every 
now  and  then,  he  heaved  a  long-drawn  sigh  —  a  kind  of 
melancholy  groan  over  his  inability  to  eat  any  more. 

Venison  said  '  we  must  build  up  our  night-fire  to  keep  off 
the  varmints,'  and  accordingly  we  reared  a  pile  of  brush  of 
logs,  sot  it  a-going,  made  up  our  bed  of  withered  leaves, 
ranged  ourselves  in  a  circle  with  our  feet  turned  to  the  blaze, 
and  were  soon  lost  in  sleep. 

Morn  broke  over  us  lovely  as  ever.  As  the  first  gray 
streaks  began  to  melt  away,  Venison  roused  up  to  get  a 
deer  for  breakfast.  We  went  out  on  to  a  run- way,  hid  our 
selves  in  the  bushes,  and  soon  a  large  buck,  his  antlers  swung 
aloft,  came  snuffing  and  cracking  along  over  the  leaves,  on 


80  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

his  way  to  the  lake  to  take  his  morning  drink.  Pop  !  and 
over  he  went,  and  soon  his  '  saddles'  were  taken  out  and 
carried  into  camp,  our  stack  started,  and  breakfast  prepared. 
Another  day  was  loitered  away  among  the  fish  —  another 
day,  beautiful  as  the  last,  we  floated  over  the  lake,  and 
threaded  the  stream  that  poured  into  it.  At  night  we  found 
ourselves  safely  moored  at  Puddleford,  our  boat  loaded  with 
fish,  and  my  soul  filled  with  a  thousand  beautiful  pictures  of 
nature,  that  hang  there  winter  and  summer,  as  bright  and 
lovely  as  life  itself. 


EDUCATION    AT    THE    WEST.  81 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Educational  Efforts — Squire  Longbow's  'Notis'  —  The  'Saterday 
Kite '  —  Ike  and  the  Squire  —  Various  Eemarks  to  the  point  — 
Mrs.  Fizzle  and  the  Temperance  Question  —  Collection  taken  — 
General  Result. 

THERE  has  been  much  written  in  the  world  about  the 
benefits  of  education.  I  am  very  sure  that  its  importance  was 
not  overlooked  in  Puddleford.  I  cannot  say  that  the  village 
has  ever  produced  giants  in  literature,  but  it  has  produced 
great  men,  comparatively  speaking  and  judging,  and  very 
great,  if  we  take  the  opinion  of  the  Puddlefordians  them 
selves.  Some  body  once  said  —  *  That  in  the  kingdom  of 
the  blind,  the  one-eyed  are  monarchs,'  and  I  suppose  it  was 
upon  this  principle,  if  we  give  the  maxim  a  literal  construc 
tion,  that  Squire  Longbow,  who  had  lost  an  eye,  as  the  read 
er  may  recollect,  had  become  elevated  to  such  a  pitch  among 
his  neighbors. 

Education,  in  almost  every  western  community,  stands  at 
about  a  certain  level  among  the  masses.  That  level  changes 
with  changing  generations,  but  very  seldom  among  individ 
uals  of  the  same.  I  ought  perhaps  to  exclude  the  Squire, 
who  was  an  exception  to  all  general  rules,  and  would  have 
undoubtedly  distinguished  himself  any  where  and  under  any 
circumstances.  The  children  of  the  pioneer,  or  a  portion  of 
them,  receive  educational  advantages,  which  had  been  de 
nied  the  father,  and  their  children,  still  greater,  until  at  last 
the  polished  statue  rises  out  of  the  marble  in  the  quarry. 

But,  there  were  efforts  making  at  Puddleford  about  the 
4* 


82  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

time  I  allude  to,  to  increase  the  common  stock  of  knowledge, 
and  keep  up  the  general  reputation  of  Puddleford  with  that 
of  the  world,  which  ought  not  to  pass  unnoticed. 

One  day  in  November,  I  discovered  the  following  notice 
posted  up  in  the  streets,  and  nailed  to  several  trees  adjacent 
to  the  highways  in  the  country : 

'NOTTS 

'To  all  it  may  konsarn  —  men,  wimmin,  and  their  child 
ren.  Whareas,  edication,  and  knowlidg  of  all  sorts,  is 
very  likely  to  run  down  in-  all  knew  countrys,  owin  to  a 
great  manny  reasons  that  aint  propper  to  go  into  this  ere 
notis  —  and  whareas  many  of  the  habitants  of  Puddleford 
and  the  circumjacint  country  all  round  bout  it,  are  in  danger 
of  suffering  that  way —And  whareas  a  few  of  us  leading  men 
have  thot  on  the  matter,  and  concluded  that  sumthing  must 
very  soon  be  did,  or  til  be  too  late  —  therefore  a  meeting 
will  be  held  at  the  log-chapel  next  Saterday  nite,  to  raise  up 
the  karacter  of  the  people  in  this  respect. 
(Signed.) 

'  SQUIRE  LONGBOW  and  others.' 

On  the  '  Saterday  nite,'  mentioned  in  the  above  '  notis,'  I 
attended  at  the  log-chapel,  for  the  purpose  of  raising  up  the 
'  karacter  of  the  people.'  The  gathering  was  large  —  made 
»  up  of  men  and  women,  and  quite  a  number  were  in  from 
the  country.  Squire  Longbow,  the  '  Colonel,'  '  Stub  Bulli- 
phant'  the  landlord  of  the  Eagle,  Ike  Turtle  the  pettifogger, 
Sile  Bates  his  opponent,  Charity  Beadle,  Philista  Filkins, 
'Aunt  Graves,'  '  Sister  Abigail,'  Sonora  Brown,  and  a  large 
number  of  others  made  up  the  meeting.  It  was  very  evi 
dent  that  something  would  be  done.  Pretty  soon  Ike  Turtle 
rose,  gave  a  loud  rap  with  his  fist  on  the  side  of  the  house, 


GETTING    UNDER    WAY.  83 

and  said  it  was  '  high  time  this  ere  body  came  to  order,  and 
he  would  nominate  Squire  Longbow  for  President.' 

'You've  heerd  the  nomination,',  continued  the  Squire, 
rising  slowly  from  his  seat  in  another  part  of  the  house. 
*  You  who  are  in  my  favor  say  Aye  ! ' 

'Aye ! '  exclaimed  the  house  ! 

'Clear  vote  —  no  use  in  putting  the  noes,' and  Squire 
Longbow  took  his  stand  in  the  pulpit,  and  proceeded : 

'  Feller-citizens,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all  on  you  who  are 
here,  just  keep  still  while  I  thank  you.  We  have  cum  up 
here  on  a  pretty  big  business  —  neither  more  nor  less  than 
edication.  P'raps  you  do  n't  all  on  you  know  that  edication 
makes  every  body  and  every  thing  —  it  made  our  forefathers, 
it  made  some  of  us,  and  is  a  going  to  make  our  children, 
if  we  do  our  duty.  You  have  made  me  President  on  this 
occasion,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  thank  you,  and  feller-citizens, 
you  do  n't,  you  can't,  no  man  can  tell  how  I  feel  when  — ' 

Here  Ike  Turtle  rose  :  '  Squire  Longbow,'  said  Ike,  '  ar  n't 
it  rather  on-parliamentary  to  be  speaking  when  you  hain't 
got  no  secretary  to  take  things  down  ? ' 

The  Squire  was  thunderstruck.  *  No  secretary ! '  he  ex 
claimed,  '  no  secretary  !  all  void !  but  I  '11  appoint  Sile  Bates 
secretary  tunk  pro  nunclc,  (nunc  pro  tune)  as  we  say  in  law, 
and  that  '11  save  proceedings  —  and  as  I  was  saying,'  contin 
ued  the  Squire,  *  no  man  can  tell  how  I  feel,  pressed  down  as 
I  am  with  the  responsibility  that  you  have  thrown  on  to  me.' 
The  Squire  then  took  his  seat. 

Ike  Turtle  rose,  again,  to  state  the  object  of  the  meeting. 
He  said  '  he  was  an  old  residenter,  and  he  had  in  fact  grown 
up  with  the  country.  He  had  seed  every  thing  go  ahead 
except  edicatiou.  Taking  out  the  President,  members  of 
the  lamed  professions,  the  school-master,  and  the  man  who 


84  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

tended  Clewes'  grocery,  there  war  n't  hardly  a  person  of 
edication  left.  Now,'  continued  Ike,  warming  up,  '  this 
should  n't  orter  be — we  should  all  set  about  de-tar-mined 
to  do  something  ('Amen  ! '  groaned  Father  Beals.)  Why,  if 
it  looks  dark,  feller  citizens,  remember  the  dark  days  of  the 
revolution,  when  the  soldiers  went  roaming  about,  with  a 
piece  of  corn-bread  in  one  hand,  nothing  in  t'  other,  with 
ragged  uniforms  on,  and  little  or  no  breeches,  yet  all  the 
while  busting  with  patriotism.  Jest  turn  your  eyes  back 
wards  on  to  them  times,  and  you  '11  think  you  're  in  paradise. 
Something's  got  to  be  did  for  edication.  We  Ve  got  to  have 
a  Lyceum,  a  library,  and  lecters  on  all  the  subjects  of  the 
day.  (Here  'Aunt  Graves'  gave  a  groan,  as  she  expected  all 
this  would  be  accomplished  by  taxation.)  Do  n't  groan  over 
yender,'  exclaimed  Ike,  *  t'  aint  right  to  groan  at  a  new  thing 
just  a-starting  —  might  as  well  groan  down  a  child  for  fear 
he  would  n't  be  a  man.  Yes,  they  must  be  had  —  I  say 
they  must !  or  we  '11  all  run  to  seed,  and  die.  Why,  Chris 
topher  Columbus,  men  and  women,  how  many  on  you  do  n't 
know  your  right  hand  from  your  left,  scientifically  speaking, 
and  bym-bye  we  shall  go  to  ruin  as  old  Nineveh  did.  Mr. 
President,  I  move  that  a  collection  be  taken  for  the  gineral 
purposes  of  this  meeting.' 

I  was  a  little  puzzled  to  determine  whether  Ike  was  serious 
or  not.  With  all  his  eccentricities,  he  was  a  good  citizen, 
and  always  put  his  shoulder  to  the  public  wheel.  When  he 
made  his  motion  to  take  up  a  collection,  a  dead  calm  fell 
upon  the  audience.  After  a  few  moments,  Sile  Bates  rose, 
and  said  — 

He  *  hoped  this  'spectable  meeting  war  n't  going  to  Peter- 
out.' 

The  calm  continued.    Squire  Longbow  stepped  forward 


LECTURES   PROPOSED.  85 

from  his  seat  in  the  pulpit,  and  remarked :  *  That  he  could  n't 
see  what  difference  it  would  make  a  thousand  years  hence 
whether  they  did  any  thing,  or  whether  they  did  n't.' 

A  man  from  the  country  '  did  n't  know  what  money  had 
to  do  with  edication.' 

The  Colonel  said  his  pockets  were  '  as  dry  as  a  powder- 
house.' 

One  old  lady  thought '  some  body  'd  have  to  sign  for  her 
'fore  spring.' 

Aunt  Graves  thought  that '  poor  folks,  who  liv'd  on  bil'd 
vittels,  had  n't  orter  be  called  on.' 

The  hat  was,  however,  passed  around,  and  three  dollars 
and  seventy-five  cents  raised,  ( for  the  general  purposes  of 
the  meeting,'  according  to  Ike's  motion ;  and  I  will  say  here 
that  this  amount  was  appropriated  toward  the  purchase  of 
books  for  the  Puddleford  library,  which  was  established  at 
this  meeting,  and  which  has  now  grown  into  usefulness  and 
importance. 

The  hat  was  reached  up  to  the  secretary,  who  gave  it  a 
couple  of  shakes,  declaring  at  the  same  time,  that  he  was 
*  happy  to  say  that  the  public  spirit  of  Puddleford  had  n't 
gin  out  yet.' 

Squire  Longbow  then  rose  and  said :  '  That  some  plan 
must  be  laid  to  get  up  a  set  of  lecters.  There  were  three 
great  sciences,  law,  preaching,  and  physic  —  law  consarned 
property,  physic  consarned  the  body,  and  preaching  consarned 
the  soul.  These  sciences  must  be  scattered,  so  every  body 
could  enjoy  'em.  He  could  talk  on  law  himself,  and  Bigelow 
could  on  preaching,  and  physic  was  understood,  any  way. 
There  were  other  subjects  which  would  come  up  in  their 
order.  There  was  paintin',  and  poetry,  and  music  —  but 
them  war  n't  of  no  account  in  a  new  country  where  money 
was  skase.  Politics  was  one  of  the  uncertain  sciences,  and 


86  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

it  did  n't  do  much  good  to  speak  on  't,  any  how.  A  feller 
might  study  and  study,  and  jest  likely  as  not  the  next  elec 
tion  would  blow  him  into  fiddle-strings.  Yet  politics  had 
got  to  be  had,  'cause  that  was  what  kept  the  country  alive, 
arid  made  liberty  grow.  Old  Gineral  AVashington  himself 
had  a  little  on  't.  He  said  't  was  one  etarnal  job  to  start 
edication,  but  jist  get  the  thing  a-goin  once,  and  it'll  move 
off  like  ile  —  it'll  run  rite  off  like  a  steam  ingin.' 

Ike  said  'he  know'd  a  curtain  lecterortwo  might  be  had,' 
looking  round  at  Stub  Bulliphant.  '  They  war  n't  the  worst 
kind  nother.  They  'd  bring  a  man  all  up  standing,  when 
nothing  else  would.  He  'd  seen  a  fellow  cave  right  in  under 
one  on  'em,  and  come  out  as  cow'd  as  a  whipt  spaniel. 
About  lectering  on  politics,  he  did  n't  know.  He  guessed 
the  bushes  were  a  little  too  thick  to  talk  on  that,  yet.  He 
hoped  the  meetin'  would  speak  right  out,  and  'spress  their 
feelings',  wimmin  and  all.' 

Old  Mrs.  Fizzle  had  been  watching  the  movement  of  this 
august  body  for  some  time,  and  had  thought,  several  times, 
that  it  was  her  duty  to  speak.  When  Ike,  therefore,  invited 
*  women  and  all,'  she  concluded  to  try  it.  She  was  a  tall, 
weazel-faced  looking  person,  and  belonged  to  Bigelow's 
church.  She  was  an  out-and-out  temperance  woman,  and 
had  kept  all  Puddleford  hot  by  her  efforts  to  put  down  the 
sale  of  intoxicating  drinks.  She  was  a  fiery,  nervous,  active, 
good  sort  of  a  woman.  Mrs.  Fizzle  rose.  She  said  'she 
thought  she  would  give  this  meeting  a  piece  of  her  mind, 
consarnin'  things  in  general.  She  did  n't  know  but  the 
meetin'  was  well  enough  —  she  lik'd  meetins  —  she  said  she 
did  n't  care  nothin'  about  politics,  never  did  her  any  good 
as  she  know'd  on — she  didn'twarnt  to  hear  any  lecters 
any  way  'bout  that.  If  some  on  'em  would  talk  'bout  tem 
perance,  she  'd  turn  out,  and  give  a  little  something  to  help 


MRS.    FIZZLE.     -  87 

the  cause  along.  She  said  if  she  really  thought  that  this 
meeting  could  stop  Clewes  from  selling  licker,  she  'd  'tend  it 
reg'lar.' 

'  Certainly,  ma'am,'  said  Ike,  rising,  and  turning  his  eyes 
toward  Mrs.  Fizzle.  '  We  '11  put  a  ^abus  corpus  on  to  him 
'fore  breakfast  to-morrow  morning.' 

Mrs.  Fizzle  said,  '  she  did  n't  know  what  that  was,  and 
she  did  n't  care  much,  if  'twould  only  he-Id  him  tight.' 

Ike  said,  *  it  would  hold  him  —  couldn  't  break  it  no  how 
—  it  was  made  by  the  law  to  catch  just  such  chaps  with.' 

'  Wai,'  said  Mrs.  Fizzle,  '  if  the  law  made  it,  I'm  'fraid 
on't.  I've  hearn  tell  how  folks  creep  through  holes  the  law 
leaves.  I  do  n't  like  your  scorpus,  as  you  call  it.' 

Squire  Longbow  rose.  *  He  felt  it  his  duty  to  say,  that  a 
writ  of  habus  scorpus  would  hold  any  thing  on  airth.  It 
was  one  of  the  biggest  writs  in  all  nater.  He  could  hold  all 
Clewes'  grocery  with  one  on  'em.  He  felt  it  his  duty  fur 
ther  to  say  this  as  a  magistrate,  who  was  bound  by  his  oath 
to  take  care  of  the  law.' 

Mrs.  Fizzle  *  thought  that  would  do.  She  had  great  'spect 
for  the  Squire's  opinion  —  and  she  now  thought  she'd  go  in 
for  the  meeting 

Sile  Bates  said,  '  For  his  part,  he  thought  the  meetin'  was 
getting  a  good  deal  mixed.  *  Every  tub  orter  stand  on  its 
own  bottom,'  as  the  Apostle  Paul,  Shakspeare,  John  Bunyan 
or  some  other  person  said.  We  can't  do  every  thing  all  at 
onst ;  if  we  try,  we  can't  make -the  Millennium  come  until 't  is 
time  for 't.  We  can  kinder  straighten  up  matters  —  hold  on 
to  the  public  morals  a  little  more — and  give  edication  a  punch 
ahead.  But  who  knows  any  thing  about  the  sciences  in 
Puddleford  ?  and  who  can  lecter  ?  '  When  the  blind  lead  the 
blind,'  as  the  newspapers  say,  *  they  all  go  head  over  heels 
into  the  ditch.'  Great  Csesar  Augustus,  Mr.  President,  jist 


88  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

think  of  a  lecter  on  'stronomy,  that  etarnal  science,  which  no 
man  can  lay  his  hands  on,  which  the  human  intellect  gets 
at  by  figuring.  Just  think  of  Bigclow  Van  Slyck,  Ike 
Turtle,  or  you,  Mr.  President,  measuring  the  distance  to  the 
stars.  Do  n't  it  make  your  head  swim,  to  think  on 't  ?  He 
would  n't  say  that  the  Squire  could  n't  lay  down  the  law  for 
the  people,  'cause  he  made  most  on 't,  and  ought  to  know  it 
by  heart.  (The  Squire  gave  a  loud  cough,  and  straightened 
himself  in  his  seat.)  As  for  licker,  he  always  was  agin  it, 
that  is,  he  never  touch'd  it  except  in  haying,  harvesting, 
husking,  and  occasionally,  a  little  along,  between,  when  he 
did  n't  feel  right.  He  s'posed  he  was  a  strict  temperance 
man  —  was  secretary  of  a  teetotal  society  once,  but  it  died 
out  for  want  of  funds  to  keep  up  lights  and  fires.  He  hop'd 
this  meetin'  would  n't  get  so  much  on  its  shoulders,  as  to 
Vreak  down  'fore  it  got  started.' 

There  were  several  more  speeches  and  suggestions  made. 
There  were  two  or  three  on  the  floor  at  once,  several  times 
during  the  progress  of  business.  Order  was  out  of  the 
question.  A  course  of  lectures  was  finally  decided  upon, 
and  the  meeting  adjourned.  The  reader  will  not  forget  that 
the  end  had  in  view  by  this  rough,  deliberate  body  was 
noble ;  and,  in  their  own  way,  they  moved  along  steadily  to 
ward  it.  Such  a  people  do  not  forget  their  duty,  however 
ludicrously  the  discharge  of  it  may  be  at  first. 

Looking  back  from  the  present,  over  a  period  of  ten  years, 
at  the  proceedings  of  this  meeting  and  its  results,  I  feel  quite 
disposed  to  write  down  Squire  Longbow,  Ike  Turtle,  and 
Sile  Bates,  among  the  philanthropists  of  the  age. 


SOME    OF   THE    OLD   SETTLERS.  89 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Social  War  —  Longbow,  Turtle  &  Co.  —  Bird,  Swipes,  Beagle  &  Co.  — 
Mrs.  Bird — Mrs.  Beagle  —  Mrs.  Swipes  — Turkey  and  Aristocracy — 
Scandal  —  Husking-bees,  and  'such  like'  —  the  Calathumpian  Band 
—  the  Horse-fiddle  —  the  Giant  Trombone  —  the  G-yastacutas  — 
Tuning  up  — Unparalleled  Effort  —  Puddleford  still  a  representative 
place. 

I  HAVE  taken  the  liberty,  in  the  preceding  chapters,  to 
speak  freely  of  some  of  the  leading  characters  of  Puddleford. 
I  have  alluded  to  Longbow,  Turtle,  and  Bigelow,  not  be 
cause  they  were  the  only  people  of  the  village,  or  the  best ; 
but  because  they  were  the  rudder  of  society,  and  steered  it 
along  in  the  same  way  that  ships  are  guided  over  stormy 
waters.  Now,  there  were  a  great  many  more  very  excellent 
folks,  who  helped  chink  in  and  fill  up  around  these  more  im 
portant  personages,  and  make  up  a  harmonious  whole.  Zeke 
Bird,  the  blacksmith,  was  one  ;  Tom  Beagle,  the  shoemaker, 
another ;  Lem.  Swipes,  the  tailor,  still  another.  These  men 
were  among  the  first  settlers  of  Puddleford,  and  had  done 
as  much  toward  its  up-building  as  any  other.  They  had 
immigrated  from  a  place  in  Ohio,  and  consequently  knew 
something  about  the  world.  All  three  families  were  cousins, 
or  second  cousins,  to  one  another,  and  they  acted  in  unison 
upon  any  public  or  social  question. 

They  hated,  with  a  supreme  hatred,  Longbow,  Turtle  & 
Co.,  because  they  were  '  aristocrats.'  Mrs.  Bird,  who  was  a 
very  impulsive,  peak-nosed  sort  of  a  woman,  and  who  al- 
wore  a  red  flannel  petticoat  protruding  beyond  her 


90  PUQDDEFORD   AND    ITS   PEOPLE. 

dress,  and  her  shoes  slip-shod,  used  to  often  say,  '  that  if 
there  was  any  thing  she  did  despise  it  was  a  stick-up.  She 
did  n't  believe  old  Mrs.  Longbow,  or  any  of  her  darters  were 
any  better  than  common  folks ;  and  she  'd  see  the  whole 
pack  on  'em  pumpin'  lightning  at  two  cents  a  clap,  before 
she  'd  skrouch  to  'em  ! ' 

Mrs.  Beagle  was  quite  a  different  body.  She  was  not  so 
full  of  fire  and  fury  as  Mrs.  Bird.  She  did  n't  allow  her 
feelings  to  get  the  advantage  of  her  malice.  She  moved 
more  underground ;  yet  she  was  always  busy  pecking  away 
at  that  *  up-street  clique,'  as  she  called  them. 

Mrs.  Beagle  was  a  neat,  tidy  body,  and  wore  an  air  of 
great  sincerity  about  her  face.  She  used  to  say  that  *  no 
thing  grieved  her  so  much  as  to  be  compelled  to  believe  any 
thing  bad  'bout  her  neighbors,'  and  that  she  never  spoke  of 
nothing  'till  it  got  all  over,  and  there  war  n't  no  use  of  hold 
ing  in  any  longer.'  She  made  it  her  business  to  watch  the 
morals  and  religion  of  all  the  Longbows,  and  Turtleses,  and 
Bateses,  and  report  accordingly.  She  said  she  '  did  n't  know 
but  it  was  all  right  for  a  member  of  the  Methodist  church, 
like  Miss  Lavinia  Turtle,  to  wear  three  bows  to  her  bonnet  on 
Sunday  —  she  didn't  know  —  she  warn't  going  to  say  — 
'haps  she  had  n't  orter  say — but  the  way  she  looked  at  religion 
't  was  as  wicked  as  Cain  —  for  herself,  she  made  no  preten 
sions,  but  when  folks  did,  she  wanted  to  see  'em  lived  up  to.' 
She  said,  '  she  meant  to  have  Mrs.  Bates  turned  out  of  the 
church  for  riding  out  on  Sunday,  for  she  'd  seen  her  several 
times  with  her  own  eyes,  six  miles  from  town ;  but  she 
would  n't  speak  of  it,  if  it  wa  n't  such  a  scandal  on  her  pro 
fession  ;'  besides,  she  had  it  from  good  authority,  that  '  she 
water'd  her  milk  'fore  she  sold  it,'  but  she  would  n't  say  who 
told  her,  'cause  she  promised  not  to.' 

Mrs.  Swipes  was  a  fat,  blouzy-facecl,  coarse,  ignorant  wo- 


CLIQUES    AND    CENTRES  91 

man,  and  revenged  herself  by  firing  bomb-shells  into  the 
aristocratic  camp  every  opportunity  she  could  get,  and  cared 
but  little  what  she  said,  or  whom  she  hit,  if  she  could  only 
keep  the  enemy  stirred  up.  '  She'd  heard  that  Mrs.  Long 
bow's  father  got  into  jail  once  down  in  Pennsylvania,  and 
that  the  hull  batch  on  'em  were  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey ; 
and  that  the  old  Squire  himself  had  a  pretty  tight  nip  on  't ; 
but  his  friends  bailed  him  out,  and  he  lean'd  for  the  west. 
As  for  Mrs.  Bates,  she  knew  she 'd  lie,  right  flat  out— she'd 
catch'd  her  dozens  of  times  ;  and,  of  course,  Lavinia  could  n't 
be  any  better—for  as  the  old  cock  crows,  the  young  one 
learns.  She  would  n't  swap  characters  with  any  on  'em,  not 
she.' 

The  husbands  of  these  ladies  thought  just  about  as  much 
of  Longbow  &  Co.  as  their  wives  did.  They  were  an 
indolent  trio,  and  labored  only  enough  to  keep  soul  and 
body  together.  The  rest  of  their  time  was  devoted  to  the 
'  Eagle  tavern,'  street-lounging,  and  commentaries  upon  the 
daily  developments  of  the  aristocracy.  Each  one  of  the 
families  of  these  cliques  were  social  centres,  around  which 
others  revolved,  and  drew  all  their  light  and  heat.  And 
then  there  were  still  other  families,  away  down  below  the 
Birds  and  Beagles  in  the  scale  of  respectability,  who  were 
ever  warring  upon  them,  proving 

"  That  fleas  have  other  fleas  to  bite  'em, 
And  so  on,  ad  infinitum." 

I  recollect  attending  a  party  one  evening  during  the  win 
ter,  at  Bird's,  when  the  aristocracy  took  a  regular  broadside 
fire.  It  seemed  that  Longbow,  some  clays  previous,  had  a 
turkey  on  his  table  for  dinner,  which  roused  up  all  the 
wrath  of  his  adversaries.  Mrs.  Bird  said,  '  she  really  s'posed 
that  he  thought  poor  people  could  n't  have  such  things ; 


92  PUDDLEFORD   AND  ITS   PEOPLE. 

but  she'd  let  him  know  she'd  lived  on  turkeys  before  he 
ever  know'd  there  was  such  a  thing  —  and  she  had  good  sass 
with  'era  too.  Mrs.  Longbow,'  she  said,  '  cooked  it  for 
nothing  in  the  world,  but  to  make  her  knuckle  to  her ;  but 
she'd  never  give  in  as  long  as  she  drew  the  breath  of  life  — 
that  she  would  n't ! ' 

Mrs.  Sonora  Brown  said,  'that  warn't  all — Longbow  had 
bo't  a  bran  new  carpet  for  down-stairs,  and  used  sales-mo 
lasses  for  common,  every,  most  every  day  —  and  the  dark  in 
Clewes'  grocery  had  got  a  goin'  arter  Lavinny  every  night — 
and  Mrs.  Longbow  had  got  mift  at  Mrs.  Weazel,  because 
Weazel  said  he  wouldn't  stand  any  more  of  Longbow's 
decisions  —  and  they'd  got  a  burning  sperm  ile  in  the  house 
instead-er  taller  —  and  they  were  a  puttin'  on  the  drefulest 
sight  of  airs,  old  woman  and  all,  that  ever  was  seen.' 

Mrs.  Beagle  said  '  it  was  all  true  about  the  ile  —  she  see'd 
it  burn  through  the  winder  —  and  she'd  seen  a  great  many 
more  things  through  the  winder,  but  she  warn't  a  going  to 
tell  what  they  were ! ' 

Mrs.  Sonora  Brown  threw  up  her  hands  in  horror,  and 
said,  'she  had  always  suspected  it,  but  darsn't  say  so.' 

'  Oh,  shaw ! '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beagle ;  '  that 's  nothing  to 
Bates'  wife;  she  walks  out  arm-in-arm  in  broad  daylight 
with  her  cousin  that's  been  sneaping  round  there  on  a  visit.' 
She  said,  '  Puddleford  used  to  be  a  'spectable  village,  but 
there  warn't  any  morals  any  more  since  these  high-flyers  had 
got  into  it  —  and  she  guess'd  Bates'  wife  was  flaring  out, 
and  trading  at  the  stores  as  much  as  Longbow.' 

Mr.  Bird  very  grumly  said,  '  he'd  better  hold  in,  for  if  he 
did  n't  Jdst  a  little  note  he  had  again'  him  'fore  long,  he'd 
sue  him  to  judgment,  and  level  an  execution  on  every  thing 
he  had,  and  clean  him  out.' 

A  yellow-looking  woman,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  and  who 


COUNTRY  AMUSEMENTS.  93 

had  just  before  remarked  that  '  she'd  had  the  shakin'  ager 
onto  her  all  winter,'  wanted  to  know  if  '  the  new  merchant 
was  going  to  jine  the  upper  crust,  or  be  one  of  our  folks.' 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  all  were  rattling  away 
together,  so  that  nothing  but  the  emphatic  words  could  be 
distinguished.  Artillery,  fire-arms,  and  all,  were  blazing. 
Such  a  scorching  as  the  aristocracy  received  had  hardly 
ever  been  equalled. 

Longbow  &  Co.  did  not  care  for  their  enemies.  They 
rather  felt  proud  of  the  notice  bestowed  upon  them.  Ike 
Turtle  used  to  say,  '  't  was  fun  to  stand  and  take  the  fire  of 
fools ; '  but  Squire  Longbow's  dignity  was  so  profound,  that 
he  never  permitted  himself  to  know  that  there  was  really  any 
war  going  on. 

Society  in  the  country,  among  the  farmers,  was  quite 
another  thing.  Puddleford  village  had  a  country,  and  vil 
lage  pride  looked  down  upon  it,  just  as  it  does  in  larger 
places.  The  amusements  and  frolics  of  the  country  were 
more  simple  and  hearty.  In  the  winter,  husking-bees,  apple- 
parings,  and  house-warmings  were  held  every  week  at  some 
of  the  farm-houses.  Great  piles  of  corn  were  stacked  up  in 
barn,  the  girls  and  boys  invited  in  for  miles  around,  long 
poles  run  through,  strung  with  lanterns,  and  the  husking 
rushed  through,  mid  songs  and  jokes.  Then  all  hands  ad 
journed  to  the  house,  and  drank  *  hot  stuff,'  eat  nuts,  and 
played  games,  and  stormed  around,  until  they  started  the 
very  shingles  on  the  roof;  while  the  great  fire-place,  piled  up 
with  logs  into  the  very  throat  of  the  chimney  shook  its 
shadows  around  the  room  in  defiance  of  the  winds  that 
roared  without. 

Now  and  then,  the  country  quality  held  a  regular  blow 
out  at  Bulliphant's  tavern.  On  these  occasions,  dancing 
commenced  at  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  ended  at  day-light 


94  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

next  morning.  Dry  goods  and  perfumery  suffered  abou 
those  days.  The  girls  and  boys  dressed  their  hair  with  oi 
of  cinnamon  and  wintergreen,  and  the  Eagle  smelt  like  ai 
essence  shop.  It  fairly  overpowered  the  stench  of  Bulli 
phant's  whiskey-bottles.  Every  one  rigged  out  to  within  ai 
inch  of  their  lives.  The  girls  wore  ruffles  on  their  panta 
lettes  frizzled  down  over  their  shoes,  nearly  concealing  th 
whole  foot ;  and  all  kinds  and  colors  of  ribbons  streame< 
from  their  heads  and  waists.  The  'boys'  mounted  shirt 
collars  without  regard  to  expense,  and  flaunted  out  thei 
brass  breast-pins,  two  or  more  to  each,  with  several  fee 
of  watch-chain  jingling  in  front.  -The  landlord  of  the  Eagl 
termed  these  gatherings  his  '  winter  harvest.' 

Another  amusement,  frequent  in  the  country,  was  the  turn 
out  of  the  '  Calathumpian  Band. '  The  band,  I  am  aware 
did  not  originate  with  Puddleford.  Newly-married  couple 
were  serenaded  before  it  ever  had  an  existence  there.  Bu 
this  band  was  one  of  the  very  finest  specimens.  No  on 
knew  exactly  who  its  members  were ;  but  they  were  alway 
on  hand,  soon  after  a  wedding,  in  full  uniform,  with  all  thei 
instruments  in  order.  It  was  organized  when  the  countr 
was  very  new,  and  was,  at  the  period  I  refer  to,  in  the  high 
est  state  of  prosperity. 

One  of  its  instruments  was  called  the  'horse-fiddle; 
another  the  'giant  trombone;'  another  the  ' gyastacutas. 
The  '  horse-fiddle '  was  two  enormous  bows,  made  of  hoops 
heavily  stringed  and  rosined,  with  a  beef-bladder,  fully  in 
flated,  pushed  between  the  string  and  the  bow.  The  '  grea 
trombone '  was  a  dry-goods  box,  turned  bottom-side  up,  an< 
was  played  upon  with  a  scantling  eight  or  ten  feet  Jong 
The  edge  of  the  box  and  the  scantling  were  rosined,  and  i 
was  worked  by  two  men  sawing  up  and  down.  The  '  gyas 
tacntas '  was  a  nail-keg,  with  a  raw  hide  strained  over  it,  lik< 


THE    CALATHUMPiAN    BAND.  95 

a  drum-head,  and  inside  of  the  keg,  attached  to  the  centre 
of  this  drum-head,  a  string  hung,  with  which  this  instrument 
was  worked  by  pulling  in  the  string  and  '  let  fly. '  Besides 
all  these,  the  band  were  supplied  with  dinner-horns,  conch- 
shells,  sleigh-bells,  and  sometimes  guns  and  pistols. 

It  assembled,  usually  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  around 
the  quarters  of  the  newly-married  couple,  and  within  a  day 
or  two  after  marriage.  Its  members  were  dressed  up  like  an 
army  of  scare-crows.  Some  wore  their  shirts  outside,  some 
their  coats  and  vests  buttoned  behind,  and  some  were  attired 
in  female  dress.  Its  leader  marched  and  countermarched 
this  strange  medley,  and  announced  and  conducted  all  the 
music.  The  band  never  moved  without  orders  —  it  was 
thoroughly  disciplined. 

The  instruments  were  first  put  in  tune.  The  trombone  gave 
out  a  low  and  heavy  growl  —  the  '  gyastacutas, !  a  bung ! 
the  horse- riddle  sullenly  replied  —  a  chink-chink  from  a  few 
pairs  of  bells,  and  a  toot-e-toot  from  the  horns  and  shells, 
showed  the  blast  was  near  at  hand. 

And  such  a  blast.  The  infernal  regions  could  not  equal  it. 
It  roared  and  echoed  for  miles  around.  It  fairly  tore  out  the 
inside  of  one's  head.  The  cows  bellowed  and  the  dogs 
barked,  honestly  believing  that  the  dissolution  of  all  things 
was  at  hand.  The  whole  surrounding  population  roused  up, 
for  no  person  pretended  to  sleep  when  the  Great  Calathump- 
ian  Band  was  assembled. 

The  reader  must  not  suppose  that  this  band  was  a  mere 
congregation  of  boys.  Not  by  any  means  ;  it  was  one  of  the 
institutions  of  the  country  —  one  of  the  public  amusements 
of  the  day,  and  was  patronized  by  young  and  old.  Men  had 
lived  and  died  members  of  the  Calathumpian  Band,  and  are 
remembered  in  Puddleford  for  this,  if  nothing  else. 

It  is  said  that  the  songs  and  the  amusements  of  a  people 


96  PUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS   PEOPLE. 

determine  their  character.  If  this  be  true,  the  reader  can 
judge  something  of  the  country  population  about  Puddle- 
ford  from  the  little  sketch  I  have  given  of  them.  The 
amusements  of  the  villagers  themselves  were  quite  mis 
cellaneous.  The  '  aristocracy, '  as  Bird  &  Co.  termed  them, 
gathered  every  night  at  the  Eagle,  where  they  played  cards, 
checkers,  back-gammon,  made  bets,  discussed  the  affairs  of 
the  nation  and  the  private  affairs  of  their  neighbors,  drank  a 
little  whiskey,  and  went  home  at  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock 
deeply  impressed  with  their  own  importance.  Bulliphant's 
bar-room  was  their  centre  of  gravity,  and  it  was  a  matter  of 
deep  concern,  if  any  member  of  the  club  was  not  found  in 
his  accustomed  place.  Longbow,  Turtle  and  Bates  had 
actually  unseated  several  pairs  of  pantaloons  on  the  land 
lord's  chairs,  which  proved  clearly  enough  that  they  were 
faithful  members. 

Important  business  was  transacted  by  this  club.  It  made 
all  the  justices  of  the  peace,  constables,  school  inspectors, 
&c.,  &c.,  and  was  a  controlling  clique,  in  all  political  matters, 
within  the  township. 

The  reader  discerns  that  Puddleford,  in  most  respects, 
was  like  other  places.  It  had  its  divisions  in  society,  its  im 
portance,  its  pomp  and  show,  and  relatively  speaking,  its 
aristocracy.  It  played  through  the  same  farce  in  a  small 
way  that  larger  places  do  on  a  more  extended  plan.  Long 
bow  felt  just  as  omnipotent,  walking  up  and  down  the  streets 
of  Puddleford,  as  the  tallest  grandee  treading  a  city  pave 
ment.  The  scale  of  greatness  was  not  as  long  in  his  village, 
but  he  stood  as  high  on  it  as  any  other  man  in  the  world  on 
his  —  and  so  long  as  he  headed  his  own  scale,  it  mattered 
but  little  to  him  where  the  *  rest  of  mankind '  were. 

It  must  have  been  a  very  remarkable  character  who  once 
said,  *  human  nature  is  always  the  same'  —  that  the  only  dif- 


PUDDLEFORD   AND   HUMAN    NATUIIE.  97 

ference  in  human  pride  and  folly  is  one  of  degree.  And  I 
really  hope  there  are  none  of  my  readers  who  feel  disposed 
to  look  down  upon  Puddleford  with  contempt,  because  I 
have  presented  a  few  personages  who  have  innocently  carica 
tured  what  others  daily  practice,  who  have  been  polished  in 
the  very  laboratory  of  fashion.  Puddleford  ought  not,  for 
that  reason,  to  be  condemned.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  may, 
on  the  contrary,  be  a  lesson  to  such,  because  it  makes  a  bur 
lesque  of  itself  in  chasing  folly.  Puddleford  is  a  great 
looking-glass,  which  reflects  the  faces  of  almost  every  person 
who  looks  into  it,  and  proves,  what  that  remarkable  charac 
ter  said,  *  that  human  nature  is  always  the  same.' 


9S  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Puddleford  and  Politics  —  Higgins  against  "Wiggins  —  the  Candidates' 
Personale  —  Their  Platforms  —  Delicate  Questions  —  Stump-speak 
ing —  Wiggins  on  Higgins  —  Impertinent  Interruptions  —  Higgins 
on  Wiggins  —  Ike  Turtle  not  dead  yet  —  Commotion  —  Squire 
Longbow  restores  order  —  Grand  Stroke  of  Policy  —  The  Koast 
Ox  at  Gillett's  Corners. 

PUDDLEFORD  was  famous  for  its  political  excitements,  and 
so  indeed  is  a  new  country  generally.  Its  people  watched 
the  altar  of  liberty  with  an  '  eternal  vigilance.'  The  quali 
fications  of  all  persons,  from  a  candidate  for  the  presidency 
down  to  township  constable,  were  thoroughly  canvassed  by 
the  electors.  What  might  be  a  qualification  for  office  in 
Puddleford,  might  disqualify  in  another  region,  but  we  can 
not  expect  that  all  men  will  think  alike.  We  must  not  for 
get  that  office  meant  something  in  Puddleford  —  that  it  con 
ferred  honor  on  the  man,  whether  the  man  conferred  honor 
on  it  or  not.  A  highway  commissioner,  or  overseer  of  the 
poor  was  a  character  looked  up  to,  and  a  supervisor  or  justice 
were  the  oracles  of  their  neighborhood. 

The  merits  and  demerits  of  candidates  were  freely  dis 
cussed  at  public  meetings,  held  most  usually  in  the  open  air, 
and  composed  of  all  parties.  Aspirants  for  public  favor, 
who  were  opposed  to  each  other,  met  and  made  and  answered 
arguments.  All  things  in  the  'heavens  above  and  the 
earth  beneath,'  were  raked  up  and  presented  at  these 
gatherings.  The  creation  of  the  world  —  Adam  and  Eve  — 
Cain  —  Jerusalem  —  Greece  and  Home  —  the  Revolution, 


WIGGINS    AND    II1GGINS.  99 

and  the  Last  War,  were  dragged  into  speeches,  and  made 
material  for  electioneering. 

In  the  fall,  subsequently  to  my  settlement,  Higgins  run 
against  Wiggins  for  member  of  tlie  Legislature.  It  was 
said  that  this  was  one  of  the  most  exciting  contests  that 
Puddleford  ever  experienced.  Every  man,  woman,  and  child 
were  enlisted.  The  'Higgins'  men1  didn't  speak  to  the 
*  Wiggins'  men,'  nor  the  '  Wiggins'  men '  to  the  *  Higgins' 
men,'  for  more  than  two  months,  and  the  opposing  families 
absolutely  refused  to  visit. 

Wiggins  was  a  little,  waspish  man,  who  lived  in  the  coun 
try,  and  was  called  a  '  forehanded'  farmer.  He  had  been  a 
justice  of  the  peace  in  Cattaraugus  county,  State  of  New- 
York,  and  thought  as  much  of -himself  as  he  did  of  any 
other  person  living.  He  had  a  small,  withered  face,  which 
looked  like  a  frost-bitten  apple,  red  hair,  and  a  quick,  rest 
less  eye.  He  was  a  violent  politician,  a  shrewd  manager, 
had  a  keen  insight  of  human  nature,  some  humor,  and  was 
and  always  had  been  &  red-hot  democrat.  He  rafted  lum 
ber  for  several  years  on  the  Susquehanna,  where  he  re 
ceived  the  greatest  part  of  his  education.  He  could  write 
his  name,  and  had  been  known  to  attempt  a  letter,  but 
no  one  was  ever  yet  found  who  could  read  his  correspond 
ence.  His  orthography  was  decidedly  bad.  He  spelled  in 
a  sort  of  short-band  way,  which  was  not  so  objectionable, 
after  all,  as  his  language  usually  conveyed  the  pronunciation 
of  the  words  intended.  *  IP  was  used  for  'ile'  or  'oil'; 
« hos '  stood  for  horse ;  '  kanderdit  for  ofis, '  for  '  candidate 
for  office, '  and  so  on.  His  extemporaneous  speaking  was 
quite  tolerable,  and  it  was  this  gift  which  had  given  him 
notoriety. 

Higgins  was  a  man  much  after  the  sort  of  Wiggins,  in 
many  respects,  though,  not  altogether.     He  was  a  violent 


100  FUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

whig,  and  talked  incessantly  about  his  'glorious  party.'  He 
was  a  large,  tall,  broad-breasted  fellow,  ignorant,  cunning, 
and  cut  something  of  a  swagger  wherever  he  went.  He 
drank  whiskey,  chewed  a  paper  of  fine-cut  every  day,  read 
the  newspapers,  cursed  the  locofocos,  prognosticated  the 
downfall  of  the  country,  and  pledged  himself  to  die  game, 
let  what  would  happen. 

These  candidates  for  office  had  a  'platform/  a  part  of 
which  was  intended  for  Puddleford,  and  a  part  for  their  com 
mon  country  —  some  planks  of  which  were  thrown  in  merely 
to  catch  votes,  and  some  for  future  fame.  Wiggins  said  he 
was  for  '  giving  immortal  man  full  swing  inter  all  things,  and 
letting  his  natur  fly  loose  like  the  winds ! '  He  '  was  for 
driving  the  American  eagle  inter  every  land,  whether  she  'd 
go  or  not. '  He  was  *  for  a  railroad  and  canal  straight  thro' 
Puddleford,  to  be  built  by  the  State,  under  the  penalty  of  a 
revolution. '  He  was  '  agin  rich  men  every  where,  for  they 
trampled  down  the-  poor. '  He  was  *  for  upsetting  Longbow 
and  his  clique,  and  declared  he  would  bring  in  a  bill,  if 
elected,  that  would  blow  the  whole  set  out  of  sight. '  He 
was  for  'easy  times/  'plenty  of  cash,'  'little  or  no  work,' 
'  good  crops, '  and  every  thing  else  the  people  wanted. 

Higgins  was  for  '  breaking  down,  and  scat  'ring  loco-focos 
every  where.'  He  went  '  for  every  thing  that's  right,  and 
again  every  thing  that's  wrong.  He  was  for  '  beating  Wig 
gins.'  He  could  '  show  that  he  had  n't  patriotism  enough  to 
keep  the  breath  warm  in  a  four  year  old  child  !  there  war  n't 
a  spark  of  American  glory  in  him.  He  wanted  to  sell  out 
the  whole  country  to  the  British,  and  would  if  elected,! 
Beside,  he  kicked  up  a  fuss  in  Bigelow's  church,  about  the 
doctrines  preached,  and  damaged  religion.'  Higgins,  it  seemed 
to  me,  based  his  success  upon  the  supposed  unpopularity  of 
Wiggins,  and  not  upon  any  political1  principles  of  his  own, 


THE    GR^VE    MEETING.  101 

while  Wiggins  relied  upon  the  great  fundamental  truths  that 
were  shadowed  forth  in  his  platform. 

There  were  other  questions  which  agitated  the  populace  of 
Puddleford,  and  its  county,  such  as  the  sale  of  liquor,  the 
removal  of  the  Indians,  &c.,  &c.,  which  both  Higgins  and 
Wiggins  touched  very  tenderly,  because  it  became  necessary 
to  advocate  both  sides,  sometimes  for  and  sometimes  against, 
according  to  the  views  of  those  persons  who  happened  at  the 
"time  to  be  soliciting  information. 

During  the  fall,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  these  two 
rival  aspirants  for  office  define  their  position  before  the  peo-' 
pie.  The  gathering  was  in  a  grove,  very  large  for  a  new 
country,  and  made  up  of  men,  women,  and  children.  Flags 
and  inscriptions  were  flying  here  and  there,  some  for  Higgins 
and  some  for  Wiggins,  and  every  person  was  as  brimful  of 
patriotism  as  he  could  hold. 

Wiggins  rose,  and  presented  himself  on  a  high  platform 
that  had  been  erected  for  the  occasion,  pulled  up  his  collar, 
buttoned  his  coat,  coughed  a  few  times,  and  then  took  a 
leisurely  survey  of  the  crowd.  *  Feller  citizens !  men  and 
women  ! '  said  he,  '  there  is  going  to  be  an  election,  and  I  'm 
a-going  to  run  for  office.  Not  that  I  care  any  thing  about 
the  office  itself,  for  I  do  'nt,  a  tinker's  ladle,  but  I  wan 't  to 
beat  Higgins,  who  never  ought  to  be  trusted  with  the 
liberties  of  any  people,  and  I'm  willing  to  sacrifice  some 
thing  to  do  it.  Feller  citizens  !  I  wan 't  to  have  you  recollect 
where  Higgins  lives  —  at  '  Satan's-Half  acre ! '  —  where  they 
don 't  have  any  fourth  of  July ;  no  Sunday-school,  only  about 
two  months  a  year ;  and  the  same  place,  feller  citizens,  where 
they  mobbed  the  temperance  lecturer,  and  swore  they  'd  drink 
streak-lightning  if  they  were  a-min-to  !  (Great  applause,  and 
cheers  for  Wiggins,  mingled  with  oaths  and  hisses  from  Hig 
gins'  friends.)  Feller  citizens,  Higgins  is  a  leading  man  there, 


102.      .        ,      .  •  ;P_l7I>BkEFOIlD  AND  'J.TS   PEOPLE. 

and  accountable  for  all  this ;  and  if  he  is  elected,  we  shall 
indorse  all  these  doings  ?  —  (a  man  from  the  *  Half-acre,'  one 
of  Higgins'  friends,  rose,  and  said  he  7d  take  the  liberty  of 
saying  that  was  an  « in/arnal  lie.')  Wiggins  replied,  by  in 
quiring  'if  the  meeting*  would  see  free  discussion  gagged 
down,  here,  in  the  presence  of  the  immortal  Washington, 
who,  he  hoped,  was  looking  down  on-to  usi'  whereupon  the 
unfortunate  man  was  pitched,  headlong,  out  of  the  crowd. 
'Arter  having  looked  at  where  Higgins  lives,'  continued 
Wiggins,  'look  at  Higgins  himself!  what  is  he?  what  does 
he  know  ?  what  can  he  do  ?  Why,  feller  citizens,  he  was  born 
down  somewhere  in  a  place  so  small,  that  it  ain  7t  on  tbe 
map,  and  started  life  by  tending  a  lime-kiln  ;  but  he  broke 
down  in  this  business,  and  was  discharged.  He  next  tried  to 
go  to  school,  but  there  warn  't  any  class  low  down  enough 
to  get  him  into.  He  then  tried  boss  rcloct  'ring,  and  you,  feller 
citizens,  know  when  a  man  turns  out  good-for-nothing,  he 
goes  rite  into  the  lamed  professions.  He  tried  hoss-doct'ring  ! 
and,  after  laying  out  ten  or  a  dozen  of  those  noble  animals, 
inter  the  cold  embrace  of  death,  (Applause)  be  ran  away 
to  get  rid  of  a  summons  that  was  clus  arter  him  !  Then  he  fid 
dled  for  a  while  winters,  and  laid  off  summers  ;  then  he  druv 
stage,  then  be  got-tor-be  captain  of  a  raft,  his  first  office, 
but  be  stranded  her,  and  she 's  never  been  got  off  yet.  At 
last,  he  went  to  'Satan's  Half-acre,'  where  he  thinks  he  aiir't 
known,  and  actually,  feller  citizens,  has  the  impudence  to 
come  up  for  office.  (Great  Applause.) 

*  Now,'  continued  Wiggins,  '  having  disposed  of  Higgins,  I 
am  going  to  launch  out  on  the  great  political  questions  of 
the  day  —  questions  that  swell  up  in  me,  and  fairly  make 
me  tremble  all  over,  to  think  on.  We  Ve  a  mighty  sight  to 
do,  to  take  care  of  them  liberties  that  was  'queathed  to  us 
by  Gen'ral  Washington,  jest  before  he  died.  The  old  here* 


THE   FIRST   AND   SECOND   WHIGS.  103 

know  'd  he  was  a-going,  but  afore  lie  went,  lie  give  us  our 
liberty,  and  said  all  that  lie  asked  on  us,  was  to  take  care  on 
it,  and  not  let  any  body  steal  or  coax  it  away  from  us,  but 
always  hold  on  to  it  like  a  dog  to  a  root.  If  it  had  'nt  been 
for  our  party,'  exclaimed  Wiggins,  in  a  loud  voice,  *  that 
great  American  eagle  that  has  flew  'd  so  long,  and  kivered 
our  juvenil '  years  with  his  wings  —  that  eagle,  fuller  citi 
zens,  that  sleeps  on  the  ragin  tornado,  and  warms  himself  in 
the  sun  —  that  eagle,  I  say  —  that  eagle  !  eagle !  would  now 
be  as  dead  as  a  smelt,  lying  on  his  back,  a-groaning  for  help. 
-(Great  applause,  and  three  cheers.)  (Wiggins  said  he  hoped 
the  audience  would  hold  in  their  manifestations  of  applause, 
as  much  as  they  could,  as  it  scattered  his  thoughts.)  The 
fust  whig,'  continued  Wiggins,  '  that  we  have  any  notis'  on 
in  his  'try,  is  the  old  feller  with  tail  and  horns,  who  goes  to 
and  fro,  up  and  down  the  airth ;  and  he,  you  know,  stole 
all-er  Job's  property,  killed  off  his  children,  and  came  pretty 
near  killing  the  old  man  himself.  The  next  was  John  Adams, 
who  did  n't  want  any  body  to  come  into  the  country,  nor  say 
nothing  after  they  had  got  here.  He,  feller  citizens,  was  for 
exploding  all  the  glories  of  natur,  and  drying  up  the  etar- 
nal  fountains  of  hope  and  consolation  —  for  turning  man 
back  again  into  the  regions  of  confusion,  where  all  is  night 
and  misery !  (Very  great  applause,  followed  by  a  flight  of 
hats  in  the  air.)  The  next  whig,  was  every  body  that  sup 
ported  old  John,  such  as  Higgins  and  his  party. 

'  Now,  feller  citizens,  what's  the  reason  you  hain  't  got  any 
more  money  ?  It 's  because  the  laws  ain  't  right.  Man  was 
born  to  have  enough  of  every  thing.  This  is  a  big 
world  we  live  in  —  it  ram  'fys  itself  all  round  the 
'quator,  and  its  mountains  diversify  themselves  into 
infinity.  You  own  your  part  on 't  just  as  much  as  the 
greatest  nabob  ;  and  all  you  Ve  got  to  do  is  to  stand  up  to 


1  ^  I  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

the  rack,  vote  for  true  men,  and  you'll  got  it  ;  and  it's  your 
duty  to  riso  in  your  wrath,  break  the  chains  of  oppression, 
and  doolaiv  that  you  '11  never  lay  down  tho  sword  until  tho 
last  enemy  is  routed.1  (More  applause.)  Here  a  solemn-faced 
man  rose,  and  askod  Wiggins  to  doiiuo  himself  on  tho  '  liokor 
question.'  'Thank  you,  sir,'  replied  \Yiggins  —  *  w:is  just 
eoniin'  to  that.'  *  The  licker  question  —  tlie  liokor  question,' 
oontinuod  Wiggins,  speaking  with  gra\  ity.  tor  thoro  was  a 
greal  division  of  opinion  among  h is  hearers  on  that  subjoot  — 
the  lioker  question,  feller  cit.i/.ens,  is  a  <jn\it  question.  Some 
people  drink,  some  don't — some  drink  a  little,  some  a  «*ood 
deal.  The  lieker  question  is  a  question  that  a  groat  many 
(oiks  talk  about  /  talk  about  it  myself,  and'  (the  same 
man  rose  again,  and  ask'd  Wiggins  it'  he  would  '  vote  a^in 
liekor  T  Wiggins  said  'it  throw  M  him  otV  his  balaiuv.  to 
be  disturb  M  in  public  speaking')  —  every  body  know  'd  how 
he  stood  on  that  pint  —  he  M  never  ehang'd;  he  stood 
whore  his  forefathers  did;  he  went  the  whole  hog  on  the 
liokor  question  —  ('which  side  ;  '  inquired  the  man)  •  whieh 
side  I  whieh  side  r  ejaculated  Wign'ins  —  'do  you  want-OF 
trammel  up  a  free  and  itmY/  pendent  oil i.  on  of  this  mighty 
ropublio  !  How  do  1  know.  here,  what  1  shall  be  oalled  upon 
to  vote/,'/-  or  «^04/  A>k  me  to  say  I'll  vote  again  some 
thing  that  hain  't  come  up  yet  !  When  Pavid  knocked  over 
the  great  giant  Itoliah.  do  you  'spose  he  knew  just  where 
he  M  throw  the  stone  to  hit  him  '  —  ( «  yes-sir-ec,'  exclaimed 
.s  springing  on  his  feet, 'he  did  that  very  thing') 
^  MS  •  hoped  order  would  be  preserved.  I  shall  leave  to 
the  expansive  development  of  the  times.'  continued  Wi^ins, 
his  arms  living  like  a  windmill,  •  the  bla/.ing  energies  of  the 
day.  and  cling  to  the  vonstitution  till  it  goes  out  inter  the  ex 
piring  regions  of  oblivion/  ( Three  cheers  wore  given.) 
Wiggins  s.it  down,  evidently  quite  exhausted:  and  I 


CKNTI.K    SI'AKKINC.  105 


«r«nns 


noticed  that  he  had  taade  a  decided  impression.  Hi; 
rose,  stripped  olVhis  coat  ami  vest,  rolled  up  his  sliirt-sloevo, 
st  utied  n  quarter  paper  of  tobacco  into  liis  chook,  and 
'ascended  tin*  platform.7  II*'  said  he  was  a  humble 
cih/.en,  and  war 'nl com  M  of  rich  or  lamed  folks  —  ho  had 
tended  lime-kiln  —-  he hud  doctor  M  I  losses  —  ho  had  druv 
stage;  and  he  v\as  goin'  to  drive,  and  doctor  :i  jackass. 
(Much  cheering.)  He  had  always  worked  for  his  living. 
lleM  give  five  dollars  to  any  man  who  M  tell  him  where 
Wiggins  was  bom,  or  show  that  he,  ever  did  any  tiling,  lie 
lived  on  the  sweat,  and  the  Hood,  and  the  brains  of  the  peo 
ple.  He'd  tended  grocery,  peddled  ealiekers,  try'd  to  talk 
law  once,  and  was  now  on  alarm,  jusl.  for  appearance  sake. 
For  himself,  he  was  a  humble  link  in  the  great,  whig  chain. 
(  Ike  Turtle  said  he  sposed  he  was  that,  link  called  the  AV/V/T/.) 
Higgins,  with  an  atVeeted  pleasantry,  asked  Turtle  "how  long 
it  was  since  he  run  M  away  from  the  State  of  New-York,  for 
debt? '  Turtle  replied,  that,  4  Wiggins  ought,  to  know,  for  he 
was  along  with  him'  — whereupon,  a  tremendous  shout  was 
raised  in  favor  of  Turtle.  Uiggins  rallied  and  proceeded. 
Ho  said  '  he  war  n't  goin'  to  talk  about  the  devil,  and  John 
Adams  —  ho  didn't  know  nothing  about  either  on  'em  — 
it  was  entirely  agin  his  religion  to  speak  of  such  things  be 
fore  such  a  'sped able  audience.  (Some  sensation.)  What 
lie  wanted  to  do  was,  to  carry  the  gr6at,  ctor-nal,  glorious, 
principles  of  his  party  rite  strait  inter  every  mortal  being,  and 
save  tho  country,  which  now  lies  bleeding  at  its  last,  gasp.' 
(Ike  asked  Iliggins  to  'throw  him  down  a  bundle  of  them 
principles,  and  if  they  suited  him,  he  VI  take  a  few.') 

Somebody  told  Turtle  to  sit  down,  whereupon  Turtle 
appealed  to  the  crowd,  and  inquired  if  they'd  see  a  citizen 
gagged  down.  (No  !  no  1  was  the,  reply.) 


106  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

Higgins  went  on.  He  said  Wiggins  war  n't  so  near  straight 
on  the  lickcr  question  as  his  yaller  dog  at  hum,  for  his  dog 
never  got  drunk,  and  Wiggins  did,  sometimes.  ('  That's  a 
lie  ! '  exclaimed  Wiggins.)  Of  course  he  '11  deny  it,  feller 
citizens  —  I  would,  if  I  was  in  his  place  —  but  I,  feller 
citizens,  without  fear  of  man ;  not  caring  about  an  election, 
step  forth,  and  say  to  you  all,  in  the  full  blaze  of  day,  that 
I'll  do  all  for  the  cause  that  lies  in  my  power,  having  in 
view  the  interests  of  every  body  in  this  republic.'  (Ap 
plause.) 

Higgins  said  that  '  he  was  sorry  to  see  such  a  man  as 
Wiggins  trying  to  quote  Scripter  to  this  audience  —  a  man, 
feller  citizens,  is  Wiggins  —  who  don 't  know  whether  David 
was  the  son  of  Goliah,  or  Goliah  the  son  of  David  —  a  man 
who  do  n't  know  whether  Paul  wrote  the  book  of  Genesis, 
or  Genesis  the  book  of  Paul  —  a  swearin'  man,  feller  citi 
zens  ;  and  yet,  he  talks  about  Goliah  throwing  stones  at 
David.  (Wiggins  wished  to  correct  Higgins — it  was  the 
other  way  —  David  threw  the  stone  at  Goliah.)  '  Howsom- 
ever,'  continued  Higgins,  'he  talks  about  the  stones  bein? 
thrown,  and  uses  the  Scripters  in  this  way  ;  and  arn  't  it  a  vile 
way,  feller  citizens,  to  catch  your  votes  —  to  run  himself  into 
the  legislater  with,  where  he  can  knock  over  the  liberties  of 
the  country,  and  make  the  green  fields  a  howlin'  waste  agin ! ' 
(This  was  followed  by  very  great  applause.) 

After  the  applause  ceased,  Ike  Turtle  rose,  with  gravity, 
and  reaching  forth  a  bottle  toward  Higgins,  inquired  if  *  he 
would  n't  ham  a  little,  as  natur  could  n't  bear  up  long  under 
such  rackin'  thoughts.' 

Higgins  said  he  .did  n't  believe  this  free  and  highly  moral 
and  religus  audience  would  long  stand  a  party  who'd  throw 
a  jug  of  licker  inter  their  faces. 


.IKE    ON    HAND.  107 

Turtle  replied  that  it  was  a  mere  experiment.  He  bro't  it 
on  -purpos  to  see  if  there  was  any  place  were  Wiggins 
luould  n't  drink.  (This  raised  a  shout.) 

Wiggins  retorted  by  saying  that  *  he  never  had  made  a 
walking  grocery  of  himself.'  (Much  laughter.) 

Turtle  'didn't  know  about  that  —  if  he  did  he  carried  it 
inside.''  The  whole  meeting  finally  got  into  a  commotion, 
each  party  taking  sides.  Squire  Longbow  set  up  a  hue  and 
cry,  '  In  the  name  of  the  People  of '  and  order  was  re 
stored.  I  heard  him  say,  after  the  crowd  had  become  quiet, 
'that  the  constitution  guaranteed  talking,  and  altho'  he  was 
on  t  o'ther  side  in  politics,  he  must  say,  as  a  magistrate,  that 
it  guaranteed  Higgins  the  floor,  as  the  great  Story  decided  in 
his  chapter  on  Rows  and  Mobs.' 

Higgins  bowed  to  Squire  Longbow,  and  proceeded.  '  I'm 
not  goin'  to  say  much  more,  and,  finally,  feller  citizens,'  he 
continued,  *  I  won't  say  any  more.  The  audience  is  so  intel 
ligent,  understand  so  well  all  the  principles  of  gov-ment,  from 
Noah's  family  that  sailed  inter  the  ark,  down  to  the  remotest 
possibility  of  futer  gen'rations  —  have  so  weigh'd  every  thing 
'longing  to  'em,  before  the  morning  stars  sang,  and  dirgested 
it  by  piece-meal  —  that  it  would  be  an  everlasting  insult  for 
me  to  attempt  to  talk  furder  —  and  in  conclusion  I  will  say : 
Three  cheers  for  the  dying  heroes  who  got  our  freedom,  and 
who  now  lie  a-sleeping  on  the  shores  of  glory ! '  (Tremen- 
tfo.us  applause,  accompanied  by  cheers  and  swinging  of  hats.) 

I  have  given,  I  believe,  the  substance  of  the  first  two 
speeches,  but  these  were  only  introductory  to  those  that  fol 
lowed.  It  was  expected,  when  the  meeting  opened,  that  the 
speaking  would  occupy  most  of  the  day,  and  the  specimens 
\yhich  I  have  reported,  were  merely  straws  thrown  out  to  de 
termine  which  way  the  wind  blew,  The  real  questions 


108  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

at  issue  were  dexterously  dodged  by  sallies  of  wit,  and  flights 
of  unmeaning  bombast. 

Wiggins  mounted  the  stand  again,  and  spoke  for  an  hour. 
He  told  a  large  number  of  humorous  stories,  and  turned  their 
point  against  Higgins  —  then  he  sailed  away  into  the  clouds 
astride  a  burst  of  nonsense  —  then  he  came  down  again.  At 
one  time,  while  Wiggins  was '  cavorting  in  the  upper  regions,' 
as  Turtle  called  it,  Sile  Bates,  who  was  a  whig,  started  to  his 
feet,  and  placing  his  closed  hand  to  one  eye,  and  cocking  the 
other,  he  stared  away  after  him,  as  earnestly  as  if  he  were 
just  passing  out  of  sight.  Higgins  followed,  and  the  speak 
ing  was  kept  up,  alternately,  until  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  when  the  meeting  closed,  without  either  Higgins 
or  Wiggins  defining  their  position,  or  saying  one  word  indi 
cative  of  their  future  political  course. 

Just  as  the  meeting  closed,  Ike  Turtle,  who  was  the  real 
political  manager  on  the  part  of  the  democratic  party,  rushed 
up  to  the  speaker's  stand,  and  swinging  his  hat  round, 
cried  out  at  the  top  of  his  lungs :  '  Feller  citizens !  The 
democratic  party  knowin'  that  the  speaking  would  last  a  good 
while,  and  that  natur  might  become  exhausted  in  listenin' 
and  'tending  to  the  duties  of  our  common  country,  have  pre 
pared  a  roasted  ox,  down  at «  Gillett's  Corners/  with  all  the 
fixins',  where  we  want  you  all  to  go,  whigs  and  democrats 
both  Higgins  and  Wiggins,  and  particularly  the  ladies,  who 
have  turned  out  so  nobly  —  and  the  young  folks  can  have  a 
dance  in  the  evening,  if  they  wish.' 

Here  was  a  stroke  of  management  worth  all  the  speeches 
of  the  day.  No  one  suspected  that  there  was  a  dinner  in 
preparation,  and  when  Ike  made  the  announcement,  there  was 
a  shout  that  came  from  the  heart,  and  made  the  woods  ring. 
And  the  meeting  adjourned  to  *  Gillett's  Corners. 


GRATIFYING   RESULT.  109 

Several  other  public  political  gatherings  were  held,  and  a 
very  large  amount  of  breath,  time,  and  eloquence  were  ex 
pended  ;  but  the  result  was  the  election  of  Wiggins  by  a  tre 
mendous  majority,  and  I  do  not  now  recollect  of  hearing  of 
an  allusion,  by  him,  in  the  legislature,  to  any  of  those  '  lead 
ing  measures,'  that  occupied  his  thoughts  on  the  '  stump.' 

I  believe,  after  all,  that  the  county  was  very  well  represent- 
ted.  Wiggins  used  about  as  much  gas  and  deception  in  se 
curing  his  seat  as  a  New- York  politician,  but  not  any  more  ; 
but  after  he  had  obtained  it,  he  felt  and  acted  like  a  repre 
sentative  of  the  people,  who  had  a  reputation  of  his  own  to 
sustain.  When  I  say  *  well  represented/  I  mean  that  Tie  did 
no  harm  —  nor  any  good  either — but  always  wted  right  on 
party  questions,  because  his  name  began  with  a  W,  and  was 
nearly  the  last  called  —  If  it  had  begun  with  A,  he  would 
have  ruined  himself,  and  perhaps  his  country  —  so  true  it  is 
tn*at  a  man's  fame  or  infamy  may  hang  by  a  single  thread. 


110  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Winter  upon  us  —  The  Roosters  in  the  early  morning  —  The  Blue- 
jays  and  the  Squirrels  —  The  Improvident  Turkey  —  The  Domestic 
Hearth,  and  who  occupied  it  —  The  Old  Dog  —  The  Blessed  Old 
Mail-Horse — The  Newspapers  —  Our  Come-to-tea  —  Mrs.  Brown, 
her  Arrival  and  Experiences  —  Entree  of  Bird,  Beagles  &  Co.  — 
Conflicting  Elements,  and  how  Ike  Turtle  assimilated  all  — 
Gratifying  Consequences. 

MY  little  family,  that  I  have  spoken  of,  were  quietly  nest 
led  away  in  the  log  hut,  and  winter  was  now  upon  us.  The 
days  came  and  went,  and  were  marked  by  light  and  dark 
ness,  and  our  own  domestic  joys.  There  were  no  startling 
events  to  disturb  any  person's  serenity  —  no  rise  or  fall  of 
stocks  —  no  fires  —  no  crashes  in  business — no  downfall  of 
pride — no  bustle  in  the  streets  about  the  latest  news  —  no 
nothing.  The  world  moved  on  as  monotonous  as  the  tick- 
tick  of  a  clock. 

The  gray  of  each  morning  was  first  heralded  by  a  famous 
rooster,  which  I  had  imported  from  the  east.  He  blew  his 
clarion  voice  at  about  four,  and  I  used  to  lie  and  hear  its 
echoes  wander  away  off  through  the  streets  of  Puddleford, 
until  they  finally  expired  in  the  wilderness.  He  was  usually 
answered  by  some  half-awakened  cock,  whose  drowsy  smoth 
ered  crow  was  quite  ludicrous.  Then  he  would  give  another 
blast  —  and  get,  usually,  a  snappish  answer  from  some  quar 
ter,  saying  as  well  as  it  could  be  said  —  *  Well,  I  know  it  — 
what  of  it  ? '  Pretty  soon,  a  braggadocio  fellow  would 
belch  forth  in  a  coarse,  sullen  strain  — '  I  Ve  been-up-these- 


THE    BIRDS.  Ill 

two-hours."1  This  was  followed,  often,  by  the  cracked  voice 
of  some  nervous  old  fellow,  away  in  another  direction,  de 
claring,  '  I  rather  guess  you  li — a — i — n — I?  And  so  one 
after  another,  strain  was  added  to  strain,  until  the  whole 
orchestra  were  blowing  their  horns  in  the  face  of  opening 
day. 

At  sunrise,  the  blue-jays  and  other  birds  gathered  about 
the  door  and  garden,  to  pick  the  dry  seeds  that  the  weetls 
were  shedding  on  the  earth.  What  are  snow-birds  ?  Where 
do  they  live  ?  See  them  chirping  in  yonder  ray  of  sunlight  — 
darting  hither  and  thither,  like  motes  in  a  beam  of  light. 
See  them  go  whirling  through  the  tempest,  like  angel  spirits, 
beautiful  in  the  very  midst  of  the  storm.  What  are  they  ? 
Do  they  sleep  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  or  hide  them 
selves  in  a  scroll  of  snow  ?  How  is  it  that  these  little  sing 
ing  harps  live  on  amid  such  dreary  scenes  ?  The  blue- 
jays,  however,  were  very  petulant.  Their  gorgeous  summer 
plumage  was  exceedingly  mussed,  and  they  went  about  from 
bush  to  bush,  and  tree  to  tree,  screaming  and  fretting  at 
each  other  and  themselves.  They  acted  like  so  many  Sibe 
rian  prisoners,  who  were  forced  to  brave  the  blasts  as  the 
penalty  of  some  crime  they  had  committed. 

Sometimes,  a  keen,  frosty  night  would  be  succeeded  by  a 
still  sunny  day,  when  the  eaves  pattered  their  sleepy  music, 
and  the  cows  strayed  away  into  the  forest,  as  though  they 
smelt  approaching  spring  —  when  the  cats  flew  out  of  the 
house,  and  chased  each  other  up  into  the  trees,  and  the  dog 
went  away  by  himself  wandering  along  the  river-banks  for 
reasons  known  only  to  himself. 

These  were  visiting  days,  holidays,  jubilee  days,  for  those 
animals  that  were  housed  in  trees,  ancl  burrowed  in  the 
earth.  Go  forth  into  the  woods.  You  may,  on  such  a  day, 
see  the  squirrel  push  out  his  head  from  the  door  of  his  cas- 


112  TUDDLEFORD    AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

tie,  where  lie  lias  been  confined  for  a  month,  and  cautiously 
look*  over  the  landscape  —  then  dart  in  again.  Soon  he 
pushes  himself  out  farther,  and  farther,  and  timidly  glides 
down  to  the  foot  of  the  tree.  Then  he  tries  the  snow,  and 
then  again,  and  finally  goes  cantering  to  the  nearest  stump, 
and  chirruping,  up  he  goes  with  a  flirt,  throws  his  tail  over 
his  back,  sits  down,  and  breaks  forth  into  a  burst  of  song. 

Do  you  believe  that  squirrel  remembers  his  last  summer 
rambles  in  those  woods  —  yon  rivulet  where  he  drank,  now 
sleeping  beneath  its  silver  frost-work,  and  chanting  its  low, 
muffled  dirge  —  yon  icy  knoll,  that  stood,  last  June,  a  pyra 
mid  of  flowers  —  yon  hickory  where  he  harvested  his  nuts  ? 
Is  his  song  for  the  present  or  the  past  ? 

Look  a  little  farther  —  the  solemn  tread  of  the  turkey  — 
who  is  busy  disinterring  some  of  the  buried  mast  of  autumn. 
Such  a  day  is  a  bright  page  in  the  winter  life  of  the  turkey. 
She  comes  forth  from  beneath  the  roots  of  upturned  trees, 
from  thickets,  or  hollow  logs,  where  she  has  been  so  long 
cowering  and  starving,  to  hail  the  blessed  warmth.  She 
dreamed  away  the  summer,  stalking  about  from  wood  to 
stream,  and  stream  to  wood  —  she  passed  the  provident 
squirrel  often,  in  October,  and  saw  him  roll  in  his  winter 
stores,  but  she  did  n't  know  why ;  and  now  she  is  shovelling 
the  snow,  scattering  it  right  and  left  with  her  feet,  with  a 
melancholy  twit !  twit !  to  get  a  kernel  of  bread. 

Farther  on,  is  a  little  gorge  sloping  up  from  the  brook, 
and  on  such  days  the  snows  melt  off",  and  the  banks  grow 
warm,  and  the  green  grass  shines  as  brightly  as  it  did  in  May. 
It  is  soft  and  spring-like  there.  The  sunbeams  seem  to  be  all 
tangled  together  in^that  spot.  There  are  clusters  of  winter 
birds  sporting  in  this  temple,  and  occasionally  one  breaks 
forth  with  a  note  or  two  of  her  last  June's  song,  as  though 
she  were  just  twanging  her  harp  to  try  its  strings.  They 


OUT-DOORS   AND  IN.  113 

think  those  tangled  sunbeams  are  the  footfall  of  April,  and 
so  they  chirrup,  and  flutter,  and  bow  to  them,  and  seem  to 
ask  where  gentle  May  is,  and  when  she  is  coming  with  her 
music  and  flowers. 

Sometimes  the  fog  from  the  river  would  freeze  upon  the 
trees  during  a  night,  and  the  sun  would  rise  upon  a  forest 
all  burst  out  into  a  white  bloom.  As  the  sun  rose  higher, 
the  little  particles  glittered  and  flashed,  and  then  it  was  a 
forest  of  silver  —  every  shrub,  every  bush,  every  tree,  was 
silver.  The  woods  were  a  frozen  poem  —  written  in  a  night 
by  invisible  fingers  to  be  read  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  then 
scattered  away  in  shining  scales,  for  ever.  These  natural 
changes  and  beauties  were  all  that  there  were  to  attract 
attention,  and  arrest  our  out  door  thoughts.  How  different 
is  all  this  from  the  life  of  a  resident  of  some  large  city  — 
where  the  life  of  a  man  is  read  in  the  street  —  and  where 
each  day  shifts  its  pictures  with  its  revolution,  like  the  chang 
ing  colors  of  a  kaleidoscope ! 

In-doors,  however,  was  the  domestic  hearth.  There  were 
joys  there,  that  knew  no  winter.  Wife  and  children  — 
how  many  ?  I  said  three — but  were  there  not  more  ?  There 
was  the  babe,  the  creeping  infant,  the  tottering  child,  in  each. 
The  portraits  of  half  a  dozen  children  were  daguerreotyped 
on  my  soul  as  I  looked  at  one.  But  a  part  were  dead  !  — 
the  babe  had  died  in  the  infant,  and  the  infant  in  the  child  — 
not  died,  either,  but  one  grace  had  faded  into  another,  one 
beauty  had  risen  upon  the  ruins  of  another,  until  the  child 
was  born  where  the  infant  perished,  we  know  not  when  nor 
how.  Instead  of  two,  I  always  felt  that  I  had  a  family  of 
little  ones  about  me. 

And  then,  that  old  dog  that  had  been  with  us  for  years, 
and  shared  our  fortunes  and  misfortunes,  always  the  same, 


114          PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

under  all  circumstances  —  he  was  one  of  the  family.  He  used 
to  pioneer  the  children  a  half  a  mile  to  school,  and  wag  his 
tail,  and  bid  them  4  good  morning,'  as  he  left  them  at  the 
door.  He  was  also  there  in  waiting,  at  night,  to  escort  them 
home  again.  He  used  to  walk  around,  over  the  farm,  and 
examine  this  thing  and  that,  as  though  he  was  half  propri 
etor  of  the  premises.  He  used  to  sleep  during  the  long 
winter  evenings  by  the  fire,  his  nose  between  his  fore*paws, 
his  hind  legs  stretched  out  full  length,  and  dream  of  scour 
ing  the  woods  —  first  a  tremor  I  then  a  twitch  !  then  a  bark, 
and  a  leap !  and  looking  up,  and  finding  all  a  sham,  away 
he  would  walk  under  the  table  overwhelmed  with  mortifi 
cation. 

This  dog  never  made  any  acquaintance  among  the  Pud- 
dlefordiaus,  nor  their  clogs.  He  always  stood  aloof  on  his 
dignity,  and  if  either  approached  too  near,  warned  them  away 
with  a  low  growl.  He  was  a  noble  Newfoundland,  and 
prided  himself  upon  his  ancestry. 

But  there  are  little  threads  of  beauty  that  penetrate  every 
household,  wherever  it  may  be,  and  warm  the  heart.  Those 
thoughts,  and  kind  words,  and -remembrances,  that  fly  back 
and  forth,  hundreds  of  miles,  and  keep  the  poorest  hovel  all 
a-glow.  They  are  so  many  rays  that  converge  there,  and 
make  a  star.  That  -sleepy  old  horse  that  brought  in  the 
mail  once  a  week  was  a  blessed  old  horse,  and  bore  upon  his 
back  treasures  that  far  outweighed  gold.  That  mail-bag, 
like  all  mail-bags,  was  full  of  passions  —  love,  hatred,  and 
revenge  —  all  kinds  of  courtesy,  civility,  politeness,  syco 
phancy —  some  coarseness  and  vulgarity,  too;  and  when  it 
burst,  like  a  bomb,  in  the  post-office,  it  covered  some  per 
sons  with  rainbow  light,  gave  others  a  cold  drench,  over 
powered  still  others,  and  turned  many  into  so  many  raging 


THE    MAILS.  115 

madmen.  The  imprisoned  conflicting  elements  that  jogged 
along  up  hill  and  down  dale,  so  cozily-on  that  old  horse's 
back,  made  strange  work  when  they  were  let  loose. 

Mail  days  were  bright  days  in  our  calendar.  They  came 
only  once  a  week — but  that  day  always  brought  something. 
We  then  sat  down,  wife,  children,  and  all,  and  posted  up  the 
books  of  the  past.  The  letters  brushed  off  the  dust  from 
the  pictures  of  distant  friends  that  were  hanging  in  our  souls 
—  and  those  pictures  talked.  Some  were  sick;  some  were 
married ;  some  had  gone  to  one  place,  some  to  another. 
They  were  sailing  on  the  great  current  of  life  as  well  as  we. 
We  were  all  together,  yet  apart ;  and  these  letters  were  only 
a  shaking  of  hands  across  the  flood  that  divided  us  —  the 

O 

shuttle  that  wove  our  passage  into  one. 

And  then  the  newspapers  were  something  more  to  us  than 
ever  before.  The  jar  and  roar  of  the  world,  like  music,  was 
softened  and  mellowed  by  distance.  Advertisements  grew  va 
luable  ;  and  our  little  daughter  Kate  absolutely  read  a  pa 
tent-medicine  notice  from  end  to  end  without  smiling. 

During  the  winter,  my  wife  made  a  little  '  come-to-tea ' 
gathering,  for  the  purpose,  as  she  said,  of  getting  '  better  ac 
quainted  with  her  neighbors.'  We  were  living,  as  I  have 
stated  before,  a  little  out  of  the  village  of  Puddleford,  and  our 
opportunities  for  seeing  its  society  were  not  very  good.  She 
invited  Squire  Longbow  and  wife,  (of  course ;)  Bates  and 
wife ;  Turtle  and  wife ;  Mrs.  Sonora  Brown,  Tom  Beagles 
and  his  clique  —  in  fact,  it  was  got  up  'without  distinction 
of  party,'  as  our  house  was  neutral  ground,  never  having  thus 
far  been  the  scene  of  a  social  fight.  I  set  apart  the  day  to 
attend  to  our  guests. 

The  first  lady  who  made  her  appearance  was  Mrs.  Sonora 
Brown,  who  had  walked  out  from  Puddleford  alone,  and  who 
hove  in  sight  pursuant  to  her  invitation  to  come  to  tea,  at 
about  2  P.M. 


116          PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

The  snow  was  falling  fast,  and  the  wind  quite  rough,  but 
Mrs.  Sonora  did  n't  mind  that.  She  was  covered  with 
one  of  those  plaid  cloaks  that  were  made  twenty  years  ago, 
had  on  a  pair  of  heavy  brogan  boots,  (sensible  woman,)  a 
tight  hood,  and  over  that  a  red  and  white  cotton  handker 
chief  tied  under  her  chin.  The  old  lady  sailed  along  through 
the  gale  as  calmly  and  stately  as  a  seventy-four.  When  she 
reached  the  door,  she  rapped,  and  stamped,  and  gave  a  loud 
hawk,  all  of  which  she  undoubtedly  thought  ought  to  an 
nounce  her  presence. 

My  Avife  opened  the  door.  '  Well,'  exclaimed  Sonora,  'you 
see  I  've  come,'  giving  her  cloak  a  hearty  shake,  and  scatter 
ing  the  snow  about  her. 

'  Glad  —  very  glad  to  see  you,'  replied  my  wife. 

'I  know'd  you  would  be  —  that's  just  what  I  told 'em', 
continued  Sonora ;  *  you  ain't  so  dreadfully  stuck  up  out  here 
as  some  folks  tries  to  make  believe,  arter  all.' 

'  We  are  like  most  other  people,  I  suppose,'  said  my  wife. 

Sonora  took  off  her  hood,  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  me. 
4  So,  this  your  man !  I  'd  hearn  tell  on  him,  but  never  see'd 
him  afore,  near  by  —  and  there  are  the  children !  —  and  that 
is  your  big  looking-glass  they  tell'd  about !  The  dear  massy 
on  us,'  she  exclaimed,  '  how  nice ! ' 

'  Why,  Mrs.  Brown,'  said  I,  *  you  must  recollect  me :  I  was 
a  juryman  on  the  trial  between  Filkins  and  Beadle.' 

*  Come  to  take  a  good  look  at  you,  and  so  you  was ;  but 
I  was  so  frustercd  that  day  that  I  did  n't  know  which  eend 
I  stood  on.     How  pesky  sassy  them  'turneys-at-la'  are,'  con 
tinued  Mrs.  Brown,  as  she  seated  herself  in  the  big  rocking- 
chair. 

*  Mrs.  Brown,  have  you  lived  long  in  this  country  ? '  I 
asked. 

'  Why,  bless  your  soul,  yes  !   Did  n't  you  know  that  ?   We 


MRS.    BROWN.  117 

came  in  from  the  'Hio  twenty  years  ago,  and  lived  her  'fore 
there  was  any  body,  nor  nothing  but  bears  and  catamounts.' 

1  How,  in  the  world,  did  you  manage  to  get  through  the 
country  twenty  years  ago  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Well,  it  was  a  pretty  orful  time,'  said  the  old  lady ;  '  it 
almost  brings  the  tears  into  my  eyes  now  to  think  on't. 
There  was  my  husband  and  four  children  — Lem  and  Jim, 
and  Molly  and  Bessy.  Lem  was  about  twenty,  and  Jim 
about  fifteen,  and  Molly  and  Bessy  ten  and  twelve ;  and  we 
were  all  piled  inter  a  big  cover'd  wagon,  drawn  by  two  yoke 
of  cattle,  with  what  little  furniter  we  had;  and  in  this  kinder 
way  we  started  for  —  I  did  n't  know  where.' 

1  Where  did  you  eat  and  sleep  ? '  inquired  I. 

'  We  bunk'd  in  the  wagon  nights,  and  camp'd  out  to  eat ; 
and  so  we  travelled  for  two  months.' 
.  *  But  you  got  through  all  safe  ? '  I  said. 

*  No,  we  did  n't,'  said  she,  heaving  a  sigh ;  *  little  Bessy 
died,'  (she  wiped  away  a  tear ;)  '  she  got  the  measles  some 
where  on  the  road ;  and  every  body  was  afraid  of  catchin' 
on  'em ;  and  no  body  would  come  near  us,  and  so  we  had 
to  stop  and  take  care  of  her  in  the  wagon  the  best  way  we 
could.  We  done  all  we  could  think  of,  but  she  kept  grow- 
in'  worse  and  worse,  'til  one  morning  she  died.' 

'  She  died ! '  I  repeated,  feeling  sad. 

'  And  we  had  to  bury  her  in  a  strange  place  —  a  high  knoll 
in  the  woods  by  the  road-side  —  and  go  away  and  leave  her 

there  alone.     Oh !  Mr. ,'  she  exclaimed,  '  I  Ve  dream'd 

a  thousand  times  of  that  spot  in  the  woods :  what  would  n't 
I  give  if  I  could  go  and  find  it.' 

'  What  did  you  do  when  you  first  arrived  here  ?'  I  in 
quired. 

1  Why,  it  was  all  trees  all  over,  every  where,  then.    There 


118  PUDDDEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

warn't  any  houzens,  nor  any  roads  to  travel  on,  nor  no  white 
folks  but  Venison  Styles,  and  some  other  hunters  who  are 
gone  away  now ;  nor  any  thing  to  live  on ;  and  nothin'  to 
be  heard  nights  but  the  varmints  screaming,'  said  Mrs. 
Brown,  laying  down  her  knitting-work,  and  shoving  up  her 
spectacles  with  a  convulsive  twitch,  for  she  was  getting  elo 
quent.  '  There  warn't  a  pound  of  meat  for  fifty  miles  round 

—  no  pork  for  love  nor  money  —  and  so  we  cut  down  a 
place,  and  built  a  log  shanty,  and  liv'd  on  deer  meat,  for 
deers  were  as  thick  as  hops  all  over.' 

*  And  what,  then  ? '  said  I. 

*  The  next  spring,'  she  continued,  '  we  cleared  a  couple  of 
acres,  and  put  it  into  taters,  turnips,  beets,  and  all  kind-er 
garden  sass ;  and  then  we  girdled  the  trees  on  ten  or  twelve 
acres  more,  and  in  the  fall  we  put  this  inter  wheat,  and  in  a 
year  or  so  we  began  to  live.' 

*  And  that  large  farm  you  now  live  on,  Mrs.  Brown,  is  the 
spot  you  first  settled  ?     Where  are  your  children  now  ? ' 

'  They  are  round  yet,'  said  Sonora.  *  Jim  teaches  school, 
and  spec'lates,  and  fiddles  some,  and  can  doctor  if  he  likes. 
Jim  is  the  only  genus  in  our  family  :  he  's  as  smart  as  lite- 
niri';  Lem  is  more  staid  and  sober-like.  He  allers  took  to 
hum  chores,  fod'ring  cattle,  and  such  like-er  things.  He 
married  Squire  Nolet's  darter ;  and  they  are  pretty  big  folks 

—  got  carpets  in  their  bed-rooms,  and  all  over  the  house  — 
and  he  is  now  settled  on  a  farm  out  on  Horse-Neck  Plains ; 
and  Jim  is  now  doin'  fust-rate.' 

'  What  became  of  Molly  ? ' 

1  Molly  made  a  bad  go  on 't.  She  married  a  trailing  sing 
ing-master —  and  I  do  suppose,'  she  exclaimed,  'he  is  one  of 
the  most  good-for-nothing  dogs  in  the  whole  settlement.  I 
do  n't  see  how  in  airth  Molly  ever  took  a  notion  to  him :  he 


MORE    ARRIVALS .  119 

hain't  got  no  laming  —  he  won't  work  —  and  /  do  n't  like 
his  singin\  I  do  n't  see  what  such  critters  are  made  for.' 
(The  old  lady  heaved  a  long  sigh.) 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Bird,  Mrs.  Beagles, 
and  Mrs.  Snipes  came  in.  These  three  ladies  were  insepara 
ble.  They  visited  together,  and  warred,  as  we  have  seen, 
upon  the  'up-street  aristocracy'  together.  Mrs.  Bird,  who 
was,  as  I  have  stated,  a  great  sozzle  about  home,  was  now 
decked  out  with  as  many  ribbons  and  streamers  as  a  May 
pole.  She  had  mounted  on  her  back  a  most  tremendous  bus 
tle,  and  she  bowed,  and  bobbed,  and  twitched  about,  as  she 
saluted  my  wife,  with  all  the  airs  and  friskiness  of  a  young 
girl.  Mrs.  Beagles  was  quite  reserved. 

'  Why,  bless  you,  Mrs. ,  how  cold  't  is ! '  said  Mrs. 

Bird.  'My  dear  husband  couldn't  hardly  think  of  lettin' 
me  go  out.  Bird  is  so  particular,  and  allers  so  scared  for 
fear'd  sunthin  will  happen  to  me.  '  Wife,'  said  Bird  to  me 
one  day  — '  wife,'  sez  he,  *  you  mus'nt  go  out  with  them  are 
thin  shoes  on  —  'til  be  the  death  on  you,'  sez  he.  '  Oh ! 
shaw ! '  sez  I,  '  Bird,  you  're  allers  bor'ring  trouble.'  '  No,  I 
aint,  nother,'  sez  he.  '  By'm-bye,  you  '11  get  a  mortal  sick 
ness  in  your  lungs,  and  it  '11  run  you  inter  the  inflammation, 
and  then  you  're  gone.'  But  I  allers  laughs  at  Bird  when  he 
talks  so.  Why,  of  all  things,'  continued  Mrs.  Bird,  looking 
round,  if  here  ain't  Mrs.  Brown.  Are  you  well,  Aunt  Sono- 
ra,  to-day  ? ' 

'  Pretty  sorter,'  answered  Mrs.  Brown. 

4  Hain't  had  the  rheumatiz,  nor  shakin'  ager,  nor  any  of 
that  buzzing  in  your  head  ? ' 

'  None  to  speak  on.' 

'  How  is  your  old  man,  Mrs.  Brown  ? ' 

1  Well,  he  's  gruntin'  some  —  but  so 's  to  be  about.' 

*  Did  he  catch  that  feller  who  ow'd  him  and  run'd  away? 


120  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

4  Not 's  I  ever  heerd  on,'  replied  Mrs.  Brown. 

*  Why,  what  a  nice  caliker  you  're  got  on,  Mrs.  Brown ; 
was  it  one-and-three  or  one-and-six  ? ' 

' 1  b'lieve  it  was  somewher's  along  there,'  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

'  It 's  jest  like  Charity  Beadle's,  only  Chanty  had  hers 
made  up  with  the  figur'  running  down.' 

About  sundown,  and  in  the  midst  of  Mrs.  Bird's  conver 
sation  —  for  her  tongue  kept  in  full  play  —  Squire  Longbow 
and  wife  announced  themselves  by  a  rap.  Their  arrival 
spiked  Mrs.  Bird's  battery.  After  making  a  cold,  scornful, 
and  exceedingly  low  and  ironical  bow  to  them,  she  retired 
one  side  with  Mrs.  Beagles  and  Mrs.  Snipes. 

Squire  Longbow  had  on  his  best  rig  —  a  suit  of  grayish 
homespun.  His  shirt-collar  was  unusually  tall,  and  he  had 
put  a  double  bow-knot  in  his  neck-cloth  of  white  cotton. 
The  shade  over  his  lost  eye  was  very  clean  and  bright.  He 
really  looked  like  a  Justice. 

Longbow  said  he  was  glad  to  get  out  —  that  the  business 
of  justice  was  wearin'  him  to  death. 

'  Much  on  your  mind,  Squire,  now  ? '  I  inquired. 

'  All  the  time  —  all  the  time  sunthin'.  There  's  a  p'int  of 
law  to  be  settled  in  that  case  'tween  Whippum  against  Snap- 
pett.  Snappett's  nigger  man  druv  Snappett's  cattle  over  Whip- 
pum's  dog,  and  broke  Whippum's  leg  —  I  mean  Whippum's 
dog's  leg ;  and  Whippum's  dog 's  goin'  to  die  —  a  very  valu 
able  dog  —  cost  Whippum  six  shillings  last  spring  —  good 
for  cattle,  hogs,  any  thing  —  children  thought  a  good  deal 
on  him ;  and  so  Whippum  swore  Snappett  should  pay  for 
the  dog,  if  he  spent  his  farm  to  get  it.' 

'  I  declare ! '  exclaimed  I. 

4  Yes,  he  said  it  in  my  offis  last  week ;  but  whether  to  sue 
Snappett  or  the  nigger  is  the  p'int.  If  we  sue  the  nigger,  he 
ar  n't  good ;  if  we  sue  Snappett,  twan't  he  that  druv  the 
oxen.' 


TlBBltS   AND    JENKINS.  121 

'  Join  the  nigger  and  the  white  man  together  in  one  suit,' 
said  I. 

'  T-h-u-n-ofcr ! '    exclaimed  the  Squire,  looking  wildly  at 
me  — '  can  't  jine  niggers  and  white  men  together,  by  our 
constitution  —  Story's  dead  agin  it.     They'd  come  in  on 
tother  side,  and  squash  every  thing  inter  pieces.' 
'  Can  it  be  possible  ! '  said  L 

' Yes-sir-ee / '  said  the  Squire;  'they  would  that  —  and 
have  me  'peal'd  up  to  the  higher  courts  in  a  jiffy.' 

'And  then,'  continued  the  Squire,  'Tibbits  and  Jenkins 
have  got  inter  trouble.  Jenkins  got  mad  at  Tibbits  'bout 
something  awhile  ago,  and  so  he  went  down  to  Tibbits' 
house,  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  full-er  wrath  —  and  spyin  a 
favorit'  cow  of  Tibbits  in  the  barn-yard,  jest  drew  up,  and 
popp'd  her  over  —  Tibbits  run'd  out,  grabbl'd  the  gun  out  of 
Jenkins'  hand,  and  smash'd  it  up  fine  on  a  tree  —  then  they 
had  a  fight,  and  Jenkins  bung'd  up  Tibbits,  and  Tibbits 
bung'd  up  Jenkins,  so  neither  on  'em  could  see  much  —  now 
Tibbits  wants  to  bring  suit  for  the  value  of  his  cow.' 

'  Do  tell  now  if  he  does, '  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora,  who 
had  been  listening  to  the  Squire's  story ;  '  I  tell'd  our  folks 
at  hum,  yesterday,  that  I  had  n't  any  doubt  but  Puddleford 
would  be  turn'd  cwside  out  'bout  that. ' 

'  Yes ! '  continued  the  Squire,  '  Tibbits  wants  to  bring 
suit  —  but  I  tell'd  Tibbits  that  I  wanted  to  know  how  much 
the  cow  \vas  worth  —  '  fourteen  dollars, '  said  he.  '  How 
much  was  the  rifle  worth  ' — '  'Bout  the  same,'  said  he. 
'  Jest  a  set-off,'  said  I,  '  the  rifle  pays  for  the  cow,  and  the 
cow  for  the  rifle.'  Tibbits  said  that  warn't  la',  and  swore, 
and  said  I  should  issue  the  writ.  I  threaten'd  to  commit  him 
for  contempt.  He  said  he  'd  get  a  ramdamus  (mandamus) 
onter  me,  and  there  the  matte. 
6 


122  rUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

*  Well,1  said  I,  '  you  do  have  trouble,  Squire  —  I  'd  resign. 

'Nobody  to  fill  my  place,'  said  the  Squire,  pushing  his- 
arms  down  into  his  breeches-pockets  and  stretching  out  his 
legs  and  throwing  his  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling  —  4  nobody  that 
understands  the  staterts? 

'  There  's  Ike  Turtle,'  said  I. 

'  Ike  arn't  cool  enough  —  it  takes  a  cool  man  for  justis  in 
these  parts  —  a  man  that  arn't  afear'd  of  nothin.' 

'  Just  so,'  said  I.  Here  was  a  rap,  and  Ike  Turtle,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bates,  and  many  others  entered. 

We  had  a  house  full  nearly.  The  elements,  as  I  have 
said,  were  not  harmonious.  The  Birds,  and  Swipes,  and 
Beagles,  and  their  friends  were  huddled  together  by  them 
selves  in  one  part  of  the  room,  and  Longbow  and  his  friends 
in  another.  You  might  hear  whispers  and  suppressed 
laughs,  and  oh's !  and  ah's !  from  the  circle  of  Mrs.  Birdr 
and  side-looks  and  other  manifestations  of  uneasiness. 

Ike  Turtle,  whose  knowledge  of  human  nature  was  equal 
to  his  humor,  after  eyeing  the  group  awhile,  concluded  to 
break  into  and  scatter  it,  if  possible.  So,  turning  around  — 
^Mrs.  Bird,  you  look  un-cow*only  well,  to-day,'  he  said. 

'  Think  I  do,1  replied  Mrs.  Bird,  pettishly. 

*  Why,  you  look  as  fresh  as  a  new-blown  rose.' 

Mrs.  Bird  held  down  her  head,  and  actually  appeared  con 
fused.  Soon  she  gathered  courage  to  speak.  'Why,  Mr, 
Turtle,  how  can  you  think  so  —  I  'rn  an  old  woman.' 

*  Not  so  old  after  all,'  said  Ike,  '  yon  Vo  taken  good  care 
of  your  sperits  and  complexion.' 

'Why,  Mrs.  Bird  don't  use  sperits!'  exclaimed  Mrs, 
Brown,  looking  down  over  her  spectacles,  at  Ike,  with  horror. 

'Not  them  kind,'  said  Ike --'but  her  nat'ral  sperits,  I 
mean.  Now,'  continued  Ike,  'here's  Squire  Longbow, 


BREAKING    THE   ICE.  123 

past  fifty,  hearty  as  a  buck,  full-er  fire,  and  can  kick  up  his 
heels  as  high  as  his  head  —  all  owin'  to  his  sperits.  Do  n't 
you  think  so,  Mrs.  Bird  ?' 

Mrs.  Bird  said  she  did  n't  know  much  about  Squire  Long« 
bow. 

*  Oh !  nonsense  now  —  yes,  you  do  —  liv'd  neighbor  to 
him  in  Puddleford  these  ten  years  or  more.     But  if  there  'a 
any  doubt  about  it,  I  '11  just  introduce  you.     Squire  Long 
bow,'  continued  Ike,  rising  and  pointing  to  Mrs.  Bird — * 
'  Mrs.  Bird  —  Mrs.  Bird,  Squire  Longbow.    And  here  's  Mrs, 
Beagle  and  Mrs.  Swipes  —  all  of  Puddleford  —  maybe  you 
do  n't  know  'em  —  all  old  residenters  —  came  in  when  the 
country  was  new,  and  have  cut  their  own  fodder  ever  since.' 

The  Squire  rose,  bowed,  and  said  —  he  *  know'd  'em  all, 
and  was  glad  to  meet  'em  looking  so  fust  rate.' 

'  Now,'  said  Ike,  *  I  've  introduced  you,  enjoy  yourselves.' 
This  movement  of  Ike's  broke  the  ice.     The  clique  re 
laxed  their  brows,  and  conversation  grew  more  general. 

*  Is  Lavinny  at  school  this  winter  ? '  inquired  Mrs.  Beagles 
of  the  Squire. 

'  Yes,  marm,  she  is  —  studying  'stronomy  —  got  inter  the 
fix'd  stars  last  week  —  and  will  be  onter  Capercorn,  bym- 
bye.' 

1  Bless  my  soul ! '  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora,  her  knitting- 
needles  rattling  with  surprise,  '  how  did  she  get  out  —  got 
inter  the  stars  ? ' 

'  Yes,  marm,'  continued  the  Squire,  '  she  larned  herself 
inter  'em  —  and  she  knows  all  'bout  'em  —  what  they  're 
there  for  —  and  who  put  'em  there  — jest  as  much  as  though 
she  'd  liv'd  six  months  on  the  spot. 

*  And  then,  Mrs.  Beagle,  she's  up  to  her  eyes  in  hist'ry. 
She  talks  'bout  the  Caesars'  and  'Gustuses,  jest  as  though 
she  M  allers  knowYl  'em.     Tells  all  about  how  Christopher 


124          PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE, 

Columbus  came  over  with  the  Puritans  and  settled  onter 
Plymouth  rock,  'caus,e  Richard  Third,  king-er  Spain,  got 
mad  at  'em,  cause  they  would  kiss  the  Pope's  toe.' 

'  Dear  me  suz,  I  wanter  know,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brown 
again. 

1  And  then  she 's  at  the  head  in  the  gography  class  — 
she's  draw'd  a  map  of  the  Cannibal  islands  —  and  on 
one  on  'em,  Capt'n  Cook  lies  with  his  head  off,  crying 
for  marcy  —  and  she  says,  down  onter  the  squalor  it  do  n't 
never  snow,  nor  nothin,'  and  it's  hotter  than  blue-blazes,  in 
the  winter  —  and  when  it  thunders  and  litenins,  it  tears 
every  thing  inter  pieces  —  she's  goin'  ahead  wonderfully, 
Mrs.  Beagles.'  N 

'Well  now  that  is  satisfying?  said  Mrs.  Beagles.  'It 
does  one  so  much  good  to  see  one's  children  get  laming.' 

'  That 's  just  what  I  tell'd  Mr.  Brown  when  Jim  was  first 
born,'  said  Aunt  Sonora.  '  I  tell'd  him  the  boy  had  genus, 
for  there  never  was  one  of  our  family  that  did  n't.  But 
you  've  got-ter  give  him  schooling,'  said  I,  '  to  bring  it  out. 
And  so  he  did  —  and  you  arter  to  have  see'd  how  he  run'd 
to  books  and  newspapers.  When  he  was  fifteen,  he  tell'd 
the  old  man,  as  he  called  his  father,  he  orter  to  go  to  district- 
school —  (he  was  a  wonderful  boy,  know'd  everything, 
then)  — -  that  he  was  way  ahind  the  age.  Then  he  went 
off  a  roamin',  a  seekin'  his  fortin'  —  and  when  he  com'd 
back,  nobody  would  know'd  him  —  he  was  so  improved  — 
he  fling'd  his  legs  onter  to  the  stove,  and  smoked  and 
chewed,  and  talk'd  about  furrin  parts— -and  didn't  take 
any  notice  of  the  old  man  —  said  how  the  old  man  did  n't 
know  nothin'  —  (warn't  he  genus,  Squire  Longbow  ?)  —  he 
would  n't  work  any,  because  he  said  genuses  never  work'd  — 
that  they  would  n't  be  genuses  if  they  did  —  he  made  the 
old  man  give  him  a  fast  horse,  and  a  pinter  dog,  and  a  gun, 


GETTING    UP    A    DANCE.  125 

all  kivered  with  silver  plates,  and  then  he  rid,  and  hunted, 
and  courted  —  (warn't  he  genus  ?  )  —  he  courted  Squire 
Boson's  darter,  and  Mr.  Fogg's  two  darters,  and  all  the  gals 
in  the  Western  settlement,  'til  he  finally  settled  down  as  I 

was  tellin'  Mr. awhile  ago  into  jest  as  much  of  a  genus 

as  ever  —  the  dear,  massy  on  us,  what  won't  larnin'  do  ? ' 

*  'S'prisin'  boy,'  answered  the  Squire. 

The  conversation  ran  on  about  every  thing,  until  Ike 
had  really  broken  up  the  clique  of  Bird  &  Co.,  and  one 
would  have  thought  there  never  had  been  a  social  war  in 
Puddleford.  There  never  lived  a  mortal,  I  believe,  who 
could  hold  out  against  the  humor  of  Ike  Turtle.  He  mag 
netized  all  who  came  within  his  influence.  He  was  shrewd, 
keen,  far-seeing,  fall  of  good  sense,  and  had  a  stock  of  fun 
that  was  positively  inexhaustible.  Ike,  in  reality,  never  cared 
about  the  antipathy  of  Bird,  Beagles,  &  Co.  —  all  their 
malice  and  slander  had  never  '  ruffled  a  feather,'  as  he  used 
to  say.  He  was  amusing  himself  in  the  experiments  he  had 
been  making  to  bring  the  factions  together ;  but  he.  did  not 
in  fact  care  whether  they  ever  came  together  or  not. 

About  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  after  '  supper,'  as 
Mrs.  Sonova  called  it,  had  passed  off,  Ike  inquired  of  me  if 
my  fiddle  was  in  the  house,  as  he  intended  to  have  Squire 
Longbow,  Aunt  Sonora,  Mrs.  Bird,  Swipes,  and  '  all  hands,' 
dancing  before  the  company  broke  up. 

The  fiddle  was  produced  —  rather  an  asthmatic  instru 
ment —  that  strayed  into  the  country  among  my  lumber, 
and  was  somewhat  out  of  order.  Ike  tinkered  it  up  with 
his  jack-knife,  until  it  finally  emitted  a  few  strains  of  some 
thing  like  music.  He  then  played  '  Over  the  Hills,'  '  Fish 
er's  Hornpipe,'  and  several  other  lively  airs,  until  old  Squire 
Longbow  unconsciously  began  to  rap  the  time  with  his  heels, 
and  Mrs.  Bird  to  grow  quite  nettlesome. 


126  PUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

Ike  finally  bowed  himself  up  to  Mrs.  Bird,  sawing  away 
all  the  time  on  his  fiddle  —  and  declared  that  '  nothing  on 
airth  would  do  him  so  much  good  as  a  country  dance,  and 
she  must  consent  to  walk  straight  out  without  wincing.' 
Mrs.  Bird  looked  pleased  and  provoked,  by  turns,  but  she 
finally  took  Ike's  arm,  and  was  duly  placed  on  the  floor. 
Squire  Longbow  and  Mrs.  Sonora  were  next  hauled  out  by 
Ike ;  Mrs.  Swipes  and  Sile  Bates,  and  so  on,  until  he  had 
united  (with  the  exception  of  Squire  Longbow  and  partner) 
the  most  discordant  elements  of  Puddleford. 

The  dance  opened,  Ike  himself  fiddling,  shuffling,  and 
calling  off.  He  and  Mrs.  Bird  went  down  in  the  middle,  up 
outside,  and  crossed  over,  Ike's  feet  playing  all  the  while 
like  drum-sticks  to  the  music  of  '  Fisher's  Hornpipe,'  which 
he  was  sawing  off  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  while  Mrs. 
Bird  followed  after  him,  panting  and  blowing,  without  much 
regard  to  time  or  tune. 

Squire  Longbow  and  Mrs.  Sonora  trotted  through  their 
parts  —  Mrs.  Sonora  having  declared,  before  she  took  the 
floor,  '  that  she  never  was  one  of  them  are  dancing  critters, 
but  she  'd  try  and  hobble  through  the  figger,  the  best  she 
could.' 

By  and  by  the  general  'wind-up1  came, when  'all  hands' 
went  into  it  heart  and  soul.  Ike's  fiddle,  and  Ike's  voice, 
and*  the  pattering  of  feet,  were  all  that  was  heard,  '  Right 
and  left!"1  'Cross  over!'  'Don't  run  agin  Mrs.  Bird, 
Squire  Longbow ! '  'A  leetle  faster,  Mrs.  Swipes ! '  'Part 
ners  keep  clus  arter  one  another ! '  '  Do  n't  cave ! '  '  Not 
quite  so  much  cavortin'  down  thar ! '  exclaimed  Ike,  giving 
expression  to  his  words  with  his  bow,  when  at  last  he  drew 
the  whole  to  a  close  by  a  long  high  squeak,  and  the  com 
pany  rushed  to  their  seats  puffing,  and  covered  with  per 
spiration. 


THE    CLIQUES    MELTED.  127 

This  movement  of  Ike's  was  a  masterly  performance.  He 
had  actually  danced  with  Mrs.  Bird,  one  of  his  bitterest 
enemies.  He  had  melted  the  two  hostile  cliques  of  Puddle- 
ford  into  one^  His  flattery  and  music  had  accomplished 
this,  and  it  was  productive  of  lasting  good,  for  the  war 
from  this  time  began  to  decline  in  Puddleford,  and  the  hos 
tile  cliques  were  finally  dissolved. 

Perhaps  the  reader  is  disposed  to  smile  at  my  description 
of  a  Puddleford  tea-party.  Perhaps  he  thinks  the  ingenu 
ousness  of  Aunt  Sonora,  the  free-and-easy  humor  of  Ike 
Turtle,  the  peevish  jealousy  of  Mrs.  Bird,  are  the  fruit  sim 
ply  of  what  he  terms  *  western  vulgarity.'  Do  n't  be  too 
fast,  my  friend.  You  belong,  perhaps,  to  a  society  that 
wears  a  mask  —  made  up,  nevertheless,  of  *  envy,  hatred, 
malice,  and  all  uncharitableness.'  Your  Mrs.  Bird  is  just  as 
jealous,  but  for  another  reason,  and  with  this  difference,  too, 
that  she  can  smile  upon  her  bitterest  enemy,  when  and 
where  the  rules  of  fashionable  life  demand  it.  You  Ve  got 
a  Squire  Longbow  or  two  with  you  in  all  probability  —  not 
dressed  in  homespun,  but  '  broadcloth  '  —  one  who  has  been 
favored  by  fortune,  and  no  god  beside  —  one  who  hums  and 
haws,  and  looks  as  wise  and  solemn  as  an  owl,  and  to  whom 
perhaps  you  unconsciously  pay  homage.  We  are  all  alike, 
dear  reader —  we  look  at  your  society  through  the  telescope 
of  education  and  refinement  —  at  Puddleford,  with  the 
naked  eye. 


PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mrs.  Longbow  taken  sick  —  General  Interest  —  Dr.  Teazle — His 
Visit  —  '  The  Rattles '  —  Scientific  Diagnosis  —  A  Prescription  — 
Short  and  Dr.  Dobbs  —  '  Pantod  of  the  Heart '  —  Dismissal  of  Tea 
zle  —  Installation  of  Dobbs  —  '  Scvller  and  Chara&zdes '  —  Ike's 
Views  —  The  Colonel's  —  Bates's  —  Mrs.  Longbow  dies  —  "Who 
killed  her :  conflicting  opinions  —  Her  Funeral  —  Bigelow  Van 
Slyck's  Sermon  — =  Interment. 

NOT  long  after  this  jolly  little  gathering  at  my  house,  I 
heard  that  Mrs.  Longbow  was  sick.  Her  symptoms  were  very 
alarming,  and,  as  she  was  the  wife  of  Squire  Longbow,  and 
as  the  Squire  was  the  man  of  Puddleford,  her  critical  con 
dition  was  a  matter  of  public  concern. 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  Squire  Longbow's  woman  ?  ' 
'  How  did  she  rest  last  night  ? '  *  Did  she  roll  and  tumble 
much  ? '  'Is  her  fever  brok't  onto  her  ? '  were  questions  fre 
quently  put.  Now  Mrs.  Longbow  was  a  very  worthy  person, 
and  entitled  to  all  the  sympathy  she  received ;  but  that  is 
not  to  be  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 

When  Mrs.  Longbow  was  first  taken  ill,  Doctor  Teazle  was 
called  —  yes,  reader,  Dr.  Teazle  —  who  had  been  as  good 
authority  in  medicine,  as  Longbow  ever  was  in  law.  I  say 
had  been  —  'Things  were  different  now.' 

Teazle  was  one  of  the  pioneers  of  Puddleford.  He  was 
there  when  the  first  log-house  was  laid  up  —  the  first  field 
cleared  —  the  first  child  born.  Teazle  possessed  a  very  little 
learning,  a  very  great  deal  of  impudence,  and  a  never-ending 
flow  of  language.  lie  was  opinionated,  and  tolerated  no 


MRS.  LONGBOW'S  SICK-BED  329 

practice  but  his  own.  (What  physician  ever  did  ?)  Teazle 
never  let  a  doubt  enter  his  mind  —  he  intuitively  read  a  case, 
as  rapidly  as  though  he  were  reading  a  printed  statement  of 
it.  Teazle  was  about  the  size  of  Longbow,  but  he  had  two 
eyes. 

'How  long  have  you  been  attackted  ?'  inquired  Teazle,  ap 
proaching  the  bed-side  of  Mrs.  Longbow,  and  placing  his 
fingers  over  the  lady's  pulse. 

Mrs.  Longbow  said  '  it  was  sometime  during  the  night.' 

'  Run  out  your  tongue,'  continued  Teazle. 

Mrs.  Longbow  obeyed. 

4  Very  bad  tongue  —  all  full  'er  stuff — you  aint  well,  Mrs. 
Longbow,  there's  a  kind  of  collapse  of  the  whole  system,  and 
a  sort  of  debility  going  on,  every  where  all  over  you.' 

Squire  Longbow,  who  sat  by,  anxiously  inquired  what  the 
disease  was  ? 

Teazle  said  it  might  be  a  sour  stomach,  or  it  might  be 
fever,  or  it  might  be  rheumatiz,  or  it  might  be  the  liver,  or 
it  might  be  that  something  else  was  out  of  order  —  or  it 
might  be  the  rattles. 

'  Dear  me ! '  exclaimed  the  Squire,  *  the  rattles  — -  what  is 
that?' 

*  The  rattles,'  answered  Teazle,  '  the  rattles  is  a  disease 
treated  of  in  the  books  —  Folks  catch  cold  —  the  nose  stops  up 

—  the  throat  gets  sore  —  and  there  is  a  kind  of  rattling 
going  on  when  they  breathe,  whether  we  can  hear  it  or  not 

—  and  that 's  the  rattles.' 

Mrs.  Longbow  said  *  she  had  n't  got  any  rattles  as  she 
know'd  on.' 

Teazle  said  he  would  make  up  a  prescription  that  would 
make  a  sure  business  of  it,  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  in 
doubt.  '  He  would  prepare  a  compound  of  the  particular 
medicines  used  for  the  particular  diseases  he  hal  mentioned, 


130  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

and  fire  at  random,  and  some  of  the  shot  would  hit,  he 
knew.' 

'  Gracious !  doctor  ! '  exclaimed  Longbow,  *  what  comes  of 
the  rest  on  'em.' 

'All  passes  off — all  passes  off,'  answered  Teazle  glibly, 
with  a  flourish  of  the  hand,  '  through  the  pores  of  the  skin  ' 
—  continued  Teazle ;  *  and  you  must  also  take  four  quarts-er 
water,  two  pounds-er  salt,  a  gill-er  molasses,  a  little  'cumfrey 
root,  some  catnip  blows,  (but  mind  do  n't  get  in  any  of  the 
leaves,  that '11  kill  her,)  stir  it  all  up  together,  and  soak  her 
feet  just  ten  minutes  —  then  get  five  cents  worth-er  sassy- 
farilla,  three  cents  worth-er  some  kind  of  physic,  pour  in 
some  castor-ile,  and  I'll  put  in  some  intergrediences  and  stuffs, 
and  will  give  it  inwardly  every  two  hours  —  and  in  the 
morning  I  will  'quire  agin  into  the  condition' of  the  patient.' 

This,  reader,  was  the  result  of  Teazle's  call.  Mrs.  Longbow 
was  really  suffering  under  an  attack  of  bilious  fever. 

In  a  few  days,  there  was  an  uproar  among  the  physicians 
of  Puddleford.  Doctor  Short  and  Doctor  Dobbs  had  united 
their  influence  and  tongues  together,  and  Teazle  was  de 
nounced  as  a  quack  and  a  fool.  Short  and  Dobbs  never 
united  for  any  other  purpose  but  the  abuse  of  Teazle.  Some 
times  Short  and  Teazle  abused  Dobbs,  and  sometimes  Dobbs 
and  Teazle  abused  Short.  Short  declared  that  'Mrs.  Long 
bow  had  nothing  but  a  kind  of  in'ard  strictur',  and  a  little 
salts  would  clear  it  right  out.' 

Dobbs  said  it  was  '  either  that  or  the  pantod  of  the  heart, 
and  that  Teazle's  medicine  would  lay  out  the  poor  soul  as 
cold  as  a  wedge.' 

I  endeavored  to  ascertain  by  Dobbs  what  he  wished  us  to 
understand  by  '  pantod  of  the  heart.' 

Dobbs  said  it  was  'impossible  for  him  to  explain  it  with 
out  the  books  —  it  was  something  that  laid  hold  of  the  ves- 


HEROIC  PRACTICE  OF  DOBBS.  lol 

sels  about  the  lieatt,  and  throw'd  every  thing  into  a 
flutter.' , 

The  war  went  on  —  Squire  Longbow's  friends  finally  joined 
tlie  force  of  opposition  to  Teazle  —  and  in  two  or  three  days, 
Teazle  was  ejected  very  unceremoniously  from  the  Squire's 
house,  and  Dobbs  took  his  place. 

The  first  thing  Dobbs  did,  when  he  was  fairly  installed, 
was  to  gather  up,  and  pitch  headlong  in  the  fire,  all  of  Teazle's 
remaining  medicines.  He  wondered  whether  Teazle  (  really 
intended  to  kill  Mrs.  Longbow  !  Perhaps  ho  was  only  a 
fool ! '  The  whole  system  of  practice  was  now  changed.  A 
new  administration  had  come  into  power,  and  with  it  new 
measures.  Dobbs '  didn't  know  but  he  might  raise  Mrs.  Long 
bow,  but  he  could  n't  hold  himself  responsible  —  Teazle  had 
nearly  finished  her  —  but  he  would  try.' 

Dobbs  immediately  introduced  a  seton  into  the  side  of  his 
patient,  '  to  get  up  a  greater  fluttering  some  where  else,  and 
get  away  the  flutter  at  the  heart,  and  when  that  went,  the 
fever  would  go  away  with  it,'  he  said. 

Dobbs  moved  around  Puddleford  for  a  day  or  so,  with  great 
pomp  of  manner.  lie  had  unseated  Teazle,  and  now  occu 
pied  his  place.  But  what  was  his  surprise  to  find  Short  and 
Teazle  united,  and  out  upon  him,  in  full  cry.  Short  had 
become  chagrined  because  Dobbs  had  been  called  to  fill  the 
place  of  Teazle,  instead  of  himself. 

The  war  was  renewed  with  increased  fury.  .  Dobbs's  seton 
failed  to  produce  the  desired  effect,  and  he,  therefore,  resorted 
to  blistering  and  calomel.  In  a  week  he  had  nearly  skinned 
and  salivated  the  poor  woman,  and  yet  she  lived.  The  fact 
was,  Dobbs  was  a  greater  blockhead  than  Teazle,  if  that  were 
possible.  Ike  Turtle  said  the  '  old  'oman  was  between  Scyller 
and  Charafo'dcs  ! '  Ike  had  heard  this  classical  allusion  at  somo 


132  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

time, '  and  she'd  got-ter  go  for  it  —  and  she'd  better  just  step 
out  at  onst,  and  save  trouble  and  expense.' 

The  '  Colonel '  said  that  he  '  once  read  a  story  in  ^Esop's 
fables,  called  the  *  Fox  and  the  Brambles,'  and  he  recollected 
that  the  fox  refused  to  shake  off  a  swarm  of  flies  that  were 
sucking  out  his  life-blood,  because  a  more  hungry  swarm 
would  succeed  —  and  he  thought  Mrs.  Longbow  made  a 
great  mistake  in  discharging  Teazle  —  for  Teazle  had  ex 
hausted  his  energies  upon  his  palient,  and  nature  was  about 
restoring  the  ruin  he  had  wrought.' 

Bates  expressed  a  different  opinion.  He  was  a  strong  ad 
vocate  of  lobelia  and  cayenne-pepper  —  he  was,  in  short,  a 
supporter  of  the  '  hot  water '  practice.  All  mineral  medicine 
Bates  declared  poisonous.  Bates  said  '  nature  knew  enough 
to  take  care  of  herself —  for  every  disease  a  remedy  had  been 
provided  —  what  we  called  weeds,  were  all  valuable  reme 
dies  ;  and  he  thought  Teazle  and  Dobbs  ought  both  to  be 
indicted  for  mal-practice.' 

This  war  between  men,  soon  became  a  war  of  systems. 
Philista  Filkins,  Aunt  Sonora,  Bates  &  Company,  raised  a 
tempest  around  Longbow's  ears;  and  Dobbs  was  finally 
thrown  overboard,  and  his  medicines  after  him ;  and  Mrs. 
Filkins  was  placed  at  the  helm,  and  the  hot-water  practice 
introduced. 

But  what  is  the  use,  reader  —  Mrs.  Longbow  died.  Who 
wouldn't?  Nature  cannot  endure  every  thing  —  she  died, 
raid  was  buried.  But  who  killed  her  ?  That  was  a  question 
for  months  afterward.  Dobbs  said  Teazle  —  Teazle  said 
Dobbs ;  and  Teazle  and  Dobbs,  when  talking  together  on  the 
subject,  said  Mrs.  Filkins  —  and  Bates  said  '  the  calomel '  — 
and  Turtle  said  '  the  'oman  had  been  conspir  'd  agin,  and 
was  killed.' 


BIGELOW'S    SERMON.  133 

I  attended  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Longbow.  A  funeral  is 
solemn  any  where  —  in  the  wilderness,  it  is  impressive.  In 
a  city,  it  is  too  often  an  exhibition  of  pride,  carried  down  to 
the  very  gates  of  death  —  the  poor  handful  of  dust  is  used 
to  glorify,  a  little  longer,  the  living  —  it  preaches  no  sermon, 
chastens  no  feeling ;  but  a  funeral  in  the  wilderness  is  as 
lonely  as  one  at  sea.  Nature  becomes  almost  oppressive. 
The  scattered  population,  for  miles  around,  gathered  at  the 
log-chapel,  and  Bigelow  Van  Slyck  preached  over  the  remains 
of  Mrs.  Longbow.  The  sermon  was  characteristic  of  Bige 
low  —  strange  and  inappropriate,  perhaps,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  reader ;  but,  after  all,  the  very  thing  for  Bigelow's 
audience.  This  was  his  text :  '  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman 
is  of  few  days,  and  full  of  trouble ! '  Bigelow  said  his  text 
used  the  word  *  man  that  is  born,'  &c.,  but  it  was  jest  as 
applicable  to  a  woman  as  to  a  man,  for  woman  was,  after  all, 
a  kind  of  a  man ;  not  that  a  woman  was  a  man,  nor  a  man 
a  woman  —  but  texts  allers  spoke  of  things  in  general,  cause 
the  Bible  was  writ  for  all  time.  In  dwellin'  upon  the  words 
'  that  is  born]  Bigelow  said  *  he  would  go  into  the  history  of 
the  Longbow  family '  —  and  he  did  go  into  their  history, 
with  a  vengeance.  He  began  with  Squire  Longbow's  grand 
father,  who,  he  said,  '  fit  in  the  old  French  war,'  and  told  us 
when  he  was  born,  and  how  he  lived,  and  where  he  lived,  and 
when  he  died,  and  gave  us  a  kind  of  synopsis  of  the  old 
man's  services  in  the  flesh.  He  then  seized,  violently,  hold 
of  the  Squire  himself,  informed  us  he  was  born  '  down  in  the 
Pennsylvanys,  'bout  the  old  Tom  Jefferson  times,  was  the 
last  of  ten  children,  whose  history  he  could  n't  go  into  for 
want  of  time  —  that  the  Squire  had  n't  any  laming  until 
after  he  becom  'd  of  age,  and  then  got  what  he  did  get  him 
self.'  Bigelow  hoped  his  audience  '  would  improve  on  this 
lesson,  and  get  laming  themselves.'  He  then  followed  up 


134  rUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

the  Squire  through  his  immigration  and  settlement  at  Pud- 
dleford,  and  informed  us,  I  recollect,  among  other  things, 
that  he  built  the  first  frame-house,  *  being  twenty  feet  by 
thirty-four.'  Bigelow  was  still  more  specific  in  his  history  of 
Mrs1.  Longbow.  If  there  was  any  thing  overlooked  in  the 
poor  woman's  life,  I  do  not  know  what  it  was.  Bigelow 
labored  some  half  hour  over  her  virtues,  and  brought  them 
out  so  systematically,  at  last,  that  the  list,  when  completed, 
reminded  me  of  an  inventory  of  the  personal  effects  of  a  de 
ceased  person  —  of  the  preparation  of  a  document,  to  file 
away  somewhere. 

The  latter  part  of  Bigelow's  text,  upon  the  brevity  of  life, 
was  well  managed  —  roughly,  perhaps,  but  pointedly.  He 
drew  copiously  from  nature,  by  way  of  illustration,  as  all 
persons  do,  who  live  more  with  nature  than  with  man.  '  The 
corn,'  he  remarked,  '  died  in  the  ground,  sprouted,  grew 
green,  then  the  blades  died  agin '  — '  the  flowers  jest 
breath'd  a  few  times  —  then  they  died  '  —  '  day  died  into 
night,  and  night  died  in  the  morning '  —  '  every  thing  died 
every  where ;  and  man  died,  and  woman  died,  and  we  'd  all 
got-ter  die.'  I  have  selected  only  a  few  sentences  at  random, 
from  this  part  of  Bigelow's  discourse. 

Then  there  was  an  address  to  the  audience,  an  address  to 
the  aged,  another  to  those  in  middle-life,  another  to  the 
young,  and  finally,  one  to  the  mourners,  standing.  Some 
two  hours  and  a  half  were  occupied  in  the  sermon  altogether ; 
and  when  it  finally  closed,  the  remains  of  Mrs.  Longbow 
were  silently  and  sadly  deposited  in  the  grave. 

The  death  of  Mrs.  Longbow  created  a  great  chasm  in 
society.  The  '  settlement '  was  so  small,  that  the  loss  of  any 
one  was  severely  felt.  In  small  places,  every  person  has  a 
great  deal  of  individuality  —  in  large,  only  here  and  there 


THE    CHASM.  135 

is  one  distinguished  from  '  the  crowd.'  Mrs.  Longbow  was 
certainly  fortunate  in  one  respect,  if  she  was  unfortunate  in 
another.  If  the  physicians  of  Puddleford  hastened  her  end, 
its  population  have  not  forgotten  her,  nor  her  many  virtues. 


136  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Squire  Longbow  in  mourning  —  The  Great  Question  —  Aunt  Sonera's 
opinion  —  Other  People's  —  The  Squire  goes  to  Church  —  His 
Appearance  on  that  occasion — Aunt  Graves,  and  her  Extra 
Performance  —  '  Nux  Yomica '  —  Anxious  Mothers  —  Mary  Jane 
Arabella  Swipes  —  Sister  Abigail  —  Ike  Turtle,  and  his  Designs  — 
He  calls  on  Aunt  Graves  —  She  '11  go  it  —  Sister  Abigail's  objec 
tion —  The  Squire's  First  Love-Letter  —  The  Wedding  —  Great 
Getting-up  —  Turtle's  Examination  —  The  Squire  Runs  the  Risk 
of  '  the  Staterts  '  —  Bigelow's  Ceremony  —  G  eneral  Break-Down  — 
Not  Very  Drunk. 

SQUIRE  Longbow  sincerely  mourned  the  loss  of  his  wife  — 
internally  and  externally.  Externally,  lie  was  one  of  the 
strongest  mourners  I  ever  saw.  He  wore  a  weed,  floating 
from  his  hat,  nearly  a  foot  long.  It  was  the  longest  weed 
that  had  ever  been  mounted  at  Puddleford  ;  but  our  readers 
must  not  forget  who  Squire  Longbow  was  —  a  magistrate, 
and  leading  man  in  community.  And  while  the  reader  is 
about  it,  he  may  also  recollect  that  the  Squire  is  not  the  only 
man,  east  or  west,  who  has  ventured  upon  a  little  ostentation 
over  the  grave  of  the  departed  —  nor  woman  either. 

Who  was  to  be  the  next  Mrs.  Longbow  ?  That  was  the 
question.  The  public,  indeed,  asked  it  long  before  the  Squire. 
Who  was  to  have  the  honor  of  presiding  at  the  Squire's 
table  ?  What  woman  was  to  be  placed  at  the  head  of  society, 
in  Puddleford  ?  The  Swipeses  and  Beagles,  Aunt  Sonora 
Aunt  Graves,  and  Sister  Abigail,  and  scores  of  others,  all 
began  to  speculate  upon  this  important  subject.  Even  Turtle 
and  Bates  indulged  in  a  few  general  remarks. 

Aunt  Sonora  gave  it  as  her  mind,  that  '  the  Squire  ought  to 


WHO   NEXT?  137 

be  pretty  skeery  how  he  married  any  body,  kase  if  he  got 
one  of  them  flipper-ter-gibbet  sort  o'  wimmin,  she  'd  turn  the 
whole  house  en&ide  out,  and  he  'd  be  one  of  the  most  misera- 
blest  of  all  men.'  She  said  'if  he  know'd  what  was  good 
for  himself,  he'd  jest  keep  clear  of  all  the  young  gals  that 
were  fussing  and  figeting  round  him,  and  go  right  in  for  some 
old  stand-by  of  a  woman,  that  know'd  how  to  take  the  brunt 
of  things  —  but,  lors-a-me,'  continued  Aunt  Sonora,  '  there's 
no  doing  nothing  with  these  old  widowers  —  they're  all 
like  my  Uncle  Jo,  who  married  in  a  hurry,  and  repented  arter- 
wards — and  the  poor  dear  old  soul  arn't  had  a  minute's 
peace  since.' 

The  Swipeses  and  Beagles,  who,  it  will  be  recollected,  be 
longed  to  a  clique  that  had,  in  times  past,  warred  against 
Longbow  &  Co.,  '  tho  't  it  would  be  shameful  for  the  Squire 
to  marry  at  all  —  it  would  be  an  insult  agin  the  memory  of 
poor  old  Mrs.  Longbow,  who  was  dead  and  gone.'  •  (Some 
people,  you  know,  reader,  abuse  the  living,  but  defend  the 
dead.)  'And  if  the  Squire  should  marry,  they  should  think 
for  their  part,  that  she  'd  rise  up  out  'of  her  grave,  and  haunt 
him  !  She  could  never  sleep  easy,  if  she  know'd  that  the 
Squire  had  got  some  other  woman,  who  was  eating  her  pre- 
sarves,  and  wearing  out  her  clothes,  and  lording  it  over  the 
house  like  all  possess'd.' 

Other  opinions  were  expressed  by  other  persons  —  in  fact, 
the  Squire's  widowhood  was  the  great  concern  of  Puddleford. 
'  He  was  so  well  on  to  do,'  as  Aunt  Sonora  used  to  call  it, 
that  he  was  considered  a  great '  catch.' 

After  a  few  weeks  of  sorrow,  the  Squire  himself  really  be 
gan  to  entertain  notions  of  matrimony.  It  is  true  he  had 
passed  the  age  of  sixty,  and  it  required  a  great  effort  to  get 
up  a  sufficient  amount  of  romance  to  carry  out  such  an  en 
terprise.  Symptoms  began,  however,  to  wax  strong.  The 


138  rUDDLEFORD    AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

first  alarming  indication  was  his  attendance  at  church.  The 
Squire  had  always  been  a  kind  of  heathen,  in  this  respect, 
and  had  for  many  years  set  a  poor  example  ;  but  people,  who 
want  to  marry,  will  go  to  church.  Whether  this  is  done  to 
get  up  a  reputation,  or  simply  to  take  a  survey  of  the  unap 
propriated  female  stock  yet  remaining  on  hand,  I  cannot 
say. 

The  Squire  was  'fixed  up'  amazingly,  the  first  time  I  saw 
him  at  church.  His  hair  had  been  cut,  and  thoroughly 
greased.  His  shirt-collar  covered  his  ears ;  and  his  boots 
shone  like  a  mirror.  Aunt  Sonora  said  he  looked  '  enymost 
as  good  as  new.'  Aunt  Graves  was  in  the  choir  that  day, 
and  she  sung  as  she  never  sang  before.  She  blowed  all  the 
heavy  strains  of  music  —  strains  that  lifted  her  on  her  toes  — 
directly  into  Squire  Longbow's  face.  Whether  Aunt  Graves 
had  any  design  in  this,  is  more  than  I  can  say  ;  but  I  noticed 
some  twinges  about  the  Squire's  lips,  and  a  sleepy  wink  of 
the  eye,  that  looked  a  little  like  magnetism.  It  was  ridicu- 
louSj  too,  that  such  an  old  castle  should  be  stormed  by 
music. 

•  But  the  Squire  exhibited  other  symptoms  of  matrimony. 
lie  grew  more  pompous  in  his  decisions,  disposed  of  cases 
more  summarily,  and  quoted  law-latin  more  frequently.  It 
was  about  this  time  that  he  talked  about  the  '  mix  vomica' 
instead  of  the  '  vox  Populi.'  He  used  to  *  squash'  proceed 
ings  before  the  case  was  half  presented  ;  and,  in  the  language 
of  Turtle,  '  he  tore  around  at  a  great  rate.'  Turtle  said,  '  the 
old  Squire  was  getting  to  be  an  old  fool,  and  he  was  goin' 
to  have  him  married,  or  dismissed  from  office — there  warn't 
no  livin'  with  him.' 

There  were  a  great  many  anxious  mothers  about  Puddle- 
ford  who  were  very  desirous  of  forming  an  alliance  with  the 
Longbow  family.  Even  Mrs.  Swipe?,  as  much  as  she  openl} 


IKE    AND    AUNT    GRAVES.  139 

opposed  the  Squire's  marriage  in  general,  secretly  hoped  a 
spark  might  be  struck  up  between  him  and  her  daughter, 
Mary  Jane  Arabella  Swipes ;  and  Mrs.  Swipes  was  in  the 
habit  of  sending  her  daughter  over  to  the  Squire's  house,  to 
inquire  of  him  '  to  know  if  she  could  n't  do  sunthin'  for  him 
in  his  melancholy  condition  5'  and  Sister  Abigail  went  down 
several  times  to  *  put  things  to  rights,'  and  was  as  kind  and 
obliging,  and  attentive  to  all  the  Squire's  wants,  as  ever  Mrs. 
Longbow  was  in  her  palmiest  days.  On  these  occasions, 
Sister  Abigail  used  frequently  to  remind  the  Squire  of  '  his 
great  bereavement,  and  what  an  angel  of  a  wife  he  had  lost ; 
and  that  things  did  n't  look  as  they  used  to  do,  when  she 
was  around,  and  she  did  n't  wonder  he  took  on  so,  when  the 
poor  thing  died.' 

But,  reader,  Ike  Turtle  had  ordered  things  otherwise.  He 
was  determined  to  strike  up  a  match  between  the  Squire 
and  Aunt  Graves.  So  Ike  made  a  special  visit  to  Aunt 
Graves  one  evening,  for  the  purpose  of  'surveying  and 
sounding  along  the  coast,  to  see  how  the  waters  laid,  and 
how  the  old  soul  would  take  it,'  to  use  his  language. 

I  have  already  given  an  outline  of  Aunt  Graves ;  but  I 
will  now  say  farther,  that  she  never  had  an  offer  of  matri 
mony  in  her  •  whole  life.  She  was  what  is  termed  a 
'  touchy'  old  maid.  She  professed  to  hate  men,  and  affected 
great  distress  of  mind  when  thrown  into  their  society.  Aunt 
Graves  was  just  ironing  down  the  seams  of  a  coat  that  she 
had  finished,  when  Ike  called. 

Ike  opened  the  conversation  by  reminding  Aunt  Graves 
that  'she  was  livin'  along  kinder  lonely  like.' 

'  Lonely  'nough,  I  s'pose,'  she  replied,  snappishly. 

'Don't  you  never  have  the  blues,  and  get  sorter  obstrep- 
'rous  ? ' 

Aunt  Graves  '  did  n't  know  as  she  did.' 


140  PUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

'  Why,  in  the  name  of  old  Babylon,  do  n't  you  marry  ? ' 
'  Marry  ?    me   marry  —  marry   a   man  —  a   great,   awful 
man  !'  and  the  iron  flew  through  the  seams  like  lightning. 

'Yes,'  continued  Ike,  'marry  —  marry  a  man  —  why,  wo- 
man,  you  are  getting  as  old  and  yellow  as  autumn  leaves. 
What  have  you  been  livin'  for?  —  you've  broken  all  the 
laws  of  Scripter  inter  pieces  — and  keep  on  breakin'  on  'em 
—  adding  sin  unto  sin,  and  transgression  unto  transgression, 
and  the  thing's  got-ter  be  stopped.  Now,  Aunt  Graves, 
what  do  you  think  —  there 's  Squire  Longbow,  as  desolate  as 
Sodom,  and  he  's  got-ter  have  a  woman,  or  the  old  man  '11  run 
as  crazy  as  a  loon  a-thinkin'  'bout  his  household  affairs ;  and 
you  know  how  to  cook,  and  to  wash,  and  to  iron,  to  make 
pickles  and  soap;  and  then,  you're  a  proper  age  —  what 


Aunt  Graves  ran  to  the  fire,  plunged  her  goose  into  the 
ashes,  and  gave  the  coals  a  smart  stir.  She  then  dropped 
down  in  her  large  rocking-chair,  leaned  her  cheek  upon  her 
elbow,  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  floor,  and  came  near  going 
off  into  hysterics. 

Ike  dashed  a  little  water  into  Aunt  Graves'  face,  and  she 
revived.  After  having  gained  strength,  she  replied  in  sub 
stance  to  Ike's  query  in  a  very  languishing,  die-away  air : 
4  She  could  n't  say  —  she  did  n't  know  —  if  it  was  a  duty  — 
if  she  could  really  believe  it  was  a  duty  —  if  she  was  called 
on  to  fill  poor  old  dead-and-gone  Mrs.  Longbow's  place  — • 
folks  were  born  inter  the  world  to  do  good,  and  she  had  so 
far  been  one  of  the  most  unprofitablest  of  sarvants  ;  but  she 
could  never  marry  on  her  own  account ' 

'  In  other  words,'  exclaimed  Ike,  cutting  her  short,  '  you  '11 
go  it.' 

Aunt  Graves  agreed  to  '  reflect  on  V 

It  WHS  not  long  after  this  consultation  that  Mrs.  Swipes 


"  MARRY  !  Me  mnrry— mnrrv  a  11 
teams  like  lightning."  ....  Pnge  140. 


Hew  through  lh, 


SQUIRE  LONGBOW'S  LETTER.  141 

began  to  '  smell  a  rat,'  as  she  said.  She  commanded  Mary 
Jane  Arabella  '  never  to  darken  the  doors  of  that  old  hog, 
Longbow,  agin ;  and  as  for  that  female  critter,  Graves,  she  'd 
got  a  husband  living  down  at  the  East'ard,  and  they'd  all 
get  into  prison  for  life  the  first  thing  they  know'd.' 

Sister  Abigail  declared,  *  she  'd  have  Aunt  Graves  turned 
out  of  church,  if  she  married'  a  man  who  war  n't  a  mem 
ber.'  This  was  a  great  deal  for  Sister  Abigail  to  say,  for  she 
had  been  the  bosom  friend  of  Aunt  Graves :  *  people  out  of 
the  church  and  people  in  the  church,  should  n't  orter  jine 
themselves  together  —  it  was  agin'  Scripter,  and  would  get 
every  thing  inter  a  twist.' 

But  Ike  Turtle  had  decreed  that  the  marriage  should  go 
on.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  indite  the  first  letter  of  the 
Squire's  to  Aunt  Graves.  This  letter,  which  Ike  exhibited  to 
his  friends,  as  one  of  his  best  literary  specimens,  was  indeed 
a  curiosity.  I  presume  there  is  nothing  else  like  it  on  the 
face  of  the  globe.  It  opened  by  informing  Aunt  Graves  that 
since  the  *  loss  of  his  woman,  he  had  felt  very  grievous-like, 
and  could  n't  fix  his  mind  onto  any  thing  —  that  the  world 
did  n't  seem  at  all  as  it  used  to  do  —  that  he  and  his  wo 
man  had  liv'd  in  peace  for  thirty  years,  and  the  marriage 
state  was  nat'ral  to  him  —  that  he  had  always  lik'd  Aunt 
Graves  since  the  very  first  time  he  see'd  her,  and  so  did  his 
woman  too;'  and  many  more  declarations  of  similar  im 
port,  and  it  was  signed  *  J.  Longbow,  Justice  of  the  Peace.' 
and  sealed  too,  likeliis  legal  processes,  that  his  dignity  might 
command,  even  if  his  person  did  not  win,  the  affections  of 
this  elderly  damsel. 

Aunt  Graves  surrendered  —  and  all  this  within  two  months 
after  the  death  of  Mr&  Longbow.  The  Squire  cast  off  his 
weeds,  and  made  violent  preparations  for  matrimony ;  and 


142          PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE, 

on  a  certain  night  —  I  shall  never  forget  it  —  the  affair 
came  off. 

There  was  a  great  gathering  at  the  Squire's  —  a  sort  of 
general  invitation  had  been  extended  far  and  near  —  the 
Swipes  and  Beagles,  Aunt  Sonora,  and  all.  Great  prepara 
tions  had  been  made  in  the  way  of  eatables.  The  Squire 
was  rigged  in  a  new  suit  ©f  *  home-made?  (made  by  Mrs. 
Longbow,  too,  in  her  life-time,)  —  a  white  vest,  and  he  wore 
a  cotton  bandana  neck-handkerchief,  with  heavy  bows,  that 
buried  his  chin,  and  a  pair  of  pumps  and  clouded  bluestock 
ings.  Aunt  Graves'  dress  cannot  be  described*  She  was  a 
mass  of  fluttering  ribbons,  and  she  looked  as  though  she 
would  take  wings  and  fly  away. 

Bigelow  Van  Slyck  and  Ike  Turtle  conducted  the  mar 
riage  ceremony  —  the  one  took  the  ecclesiastical,  the  other 
the  civil  management.  When  the  couple  were  ready,  Tur 
tle  sat  down  in  front  of  them  with  the  statutes  under  his 
arm,  with  Biglow  at  his  right  hand. 

Turtle  examined  the  statutes  amid  profound  silence  for 
some  time,  turning  down  one  leaf  here  and  another  there, 
until  he  found  himself  thoroughly  prepared  for  the  solemn 
occasion.  Finally,  he  arose,  and  with  a  gravity  that  no  man 
ever  put  on  before  or  since,  exclaimed  : 

'  Miss  Graves,  hold  up  yer  right  hand  and  swear.' 

Miss  Graves  said  '  she  was  a  member  of  the  church,  and 
dar'sent  swear.' 

Ike  said  it  was  *  legal  swearing  he  wanted,  'cording  to  the 
statcrts  —  not  the  wicked  sort  —  he  wanted  her  to  swear 
that  she  was  over  fourteen  years  of  age  —  had  n't .  got  no 
husband  living,  no  where  —  warn't  goin'  to  practice  no  fraud 
nor  nothin'  on  Squire  Longbow  —  and  that  she  'd  jest  as 
good  a  right  to  get  married  now  as  she  ever  had.' 


THE   DOUBLE   TEAM.  143 

Miss  Graves  looked  blank. 

Squire  Longbow  said  '  he  'd  run  the  risk  of  the  fourteen 
years  of  age  and  the  fraud,  and  finally  he  would  of  the 
whole  on 't.  The  staterts  was  well  enough,  but  it  warn't  to 
be  presumed  that  a  justice  of  the  peace  would  run  agin  'em 
Some  folks  did  n't  know  'em  —  he  did.' 

Ike  said  'there  was  something  another  in  the  statert 
about  wimin's  doing  things  '  without  any  fear  or  compulsion 
of  any  body,'  and  he  guessed  he  'd  take  Miss  Graves  into 
another  room,  and  examine  her  separately  and  apart  from  her 
intended  husband.'  This  was  a  joke  of  Turtle's. 

The  Squire  said  *  that  meant  married  wimin  —  arter  the 
ceremony  was  over,  that  ere  would  be  very  legal  and  proper.' 

Mrs.  Swipes  said  '  for  her  part  she  thought  the  oath  or-ter 
be  put  —  it  would  be  an  awful  thing  to  see  a  poor  crettir 
forced  into  marriage.' 

Sister  Abigail  thought  so,  too. 

Aunt  Sonora  hoped  there  would  n't  be  nothin'  did  wrong, 
'  so  people  could  take  the  law  on  'em.' 

Turtle  said  '  that  they  need  n't  any  on  'em  fret  their  giz 
zards  —  ]ie  Was  responsible  for  the  la'  of  the  case.' 

Bigelow  then  rose,  and  told  the  parties  to  jine  Jiands,  and 
while  they  were  jined,  he  wanted  the  whole  company  to  sing 
a  psalm. 

The  psalm  was  sung. 

Bigelow  then  commenced  the  wedding  process.  '  Squire 
Longbow,' exclaimed  Bigelow —  ' this  is  your  second  wife, 
ted  some  folks  say  the  third,  and  I  hope  you  feel  the  awful 
position  in  which  you  find  yourself 

The  Squire  said  '  lie  frit  easy  and  resigned  —  he  'd  gone 
inter  it  from  respect  to  his  woman  who  was  now  no  more.' 

'  You  do  promise  to  taks  this  ere  woman,  to  cat  her,  and 


144  PUDDLEFOE.D  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

drink  her,  and  keep  her  in  things  to  wear,  so  long  as  you 
and  she  lives.' 

'  I  do  that  very  thing,'  responded  the  Squire. 

'  And  you,  on  your  part,'  continued  Bigelow,  turning  to 
Aunt  Graves,  'promise  to  behave  yourself  and  obey  the 
Squire  in  all  things.' 

Aunt  Graves  said  '  she  would,  Providence  permitting.'1 

This  marriage  ceremony,  I  believe,  is  nearly  word  for 
word. 

*  Then,'  said  Turtle,  *  wheel  yourselves  into  line,  and  let 's 
have  a  dance,'  and  drawing  out  his  fiddle,  the  whole  crowd, 
in  five  minutes,  were  tearing  down  at  a  most  furious  rate ; 
and  when  I  departed,  at  about  midnight,  the  storm  was 
raging  still  higher,  the  whiskey  and  hot-water  circulated 
freely,  Turtle  looked  quite  abstracted  about  his  eyes,  and  his 
footsteps  were  growing  more  and  more  uncertain,  Bulli- 
phant's  face  shone  like  a  drumniond-light,  the  voices  of  the 
females,  a  little  stimulated,  were  as  noisy  and  confused  as 
those  of  Babel,  and  your  humble  servant  —  why,  he  walked 
home  as  straight  as  a  gun  —  of  course  he  did  —  and  was 
able  to  distinguish  a  hay-stack  from  a  meeting-house,  any 
where  along  the  road. 


THE   BAR-ROOM   COMPANY.  145 


CHAPTER  XII. 

^hQ  Group  at  '  the  Eagle '  —  Entree  of  a  Stranger  —  His  opinion  of 
the  Tavern  —  Bulliphant  wakes  up  —  Can 't  Pick  Fowls  after 
dark — Sad  Case  of  Mother  Gantlet  and  Dr.  Teazle — Mr.Farindale 
Begins  to  Unbend  — Whistle  &  Sharp,  and  their  Attorney —  Good 
Pay  —  Legal  Conversation — Going  Sniping — Great  Description 
of  the  Animal  — The  Party  Start  —  Farindale  Holding  the  Bag  — 
'Waiting  for  Snipe' — Farindale's  Solitary  Keturn  —  His  Interview 
with  Whistle  &  Sharp  —  Suing  a  Puddleford  Firm — Relief  Laws 
—  Farindale  gets  his  Execution  —  The  Puddleford  Bank  —  Tho 
Appraisers — Proceeds  of  the  Execution. 

LATE  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  early  one  evening,  Turtle, 
Longbow,  Bates,  the  '  Colonel,'  Swipes,  and  Beagle  were  con 
gregated  at  the  Eagle.  Turtle  and  Bates  were  engaged  at  a 
game  of  chequers,  and  each  one,  fast-anchored  at  his  right 
hand,  had  a  glass  of  whiskey  and  water,  or  as  Turtle  called 
it,  *  a  little  diluted  bald-face.'  Their  mouths  were  pierced  with 
a  pipe,  in  the  left  hand  corner,  which  hung  loosely  and  rakish- 
ly  down,  besmearing  their  laps  with  ashes,  and  now  and  then 
they  puffed  forth  a  column  of  smoke.  The  '  Colonel,'  Long 
bow,  and  the  other  Puddtefordians  were  ranged  round  the- 
fire.  The  Colonel  sat  in  a  ricketty  chair,  his  feet  hoisted  up 
on  the  mantle  on  a  line  with  his  nose,  and  his  shoulders 
hitched  over  the  ends  of  its  posts ;  the  Squire  was  busily 
looking  into  the  glowing  coals,  his  hands  clasped  across  his 
breast,  unravelling  some  question, of  law,  and  Swipes  sat 
very  affectionately  on  Beagles'  lap,  his  right  arm  thrown 
around  his  neck. 

While  in  this  position,  a  loud  call  of  *  Hallo ! '  '  Land 
lord  ! '  *  0-r-s-t-ler ! '  was  heard  without. 
7 


146  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

'Stir-yer  stumps,  old  Boniface  —  a  traveller  in  distress,* 
exclaimed  Ike,  to  Bulliphant,  who  was  asleep  on  a  wooden- 
box  behind  the  bar,  and  was  snoring  louder  and  louder 
at  each  succeeding  blast. 

'  Another  two-and-sixpence,  old  free  and  easy,'  added 
Bates. 

*  This  ere 's  a  licensed  tavern,  and  yon  must  be  up  and 
doing,  or  the  la'  '11  be  inter  you,'  gravely  remarked  the 
Squire. 

By  this  time,  the  stranger  dashed  into  the  bar-room,  liis 
face  flushed,  and  his  temper  or  his  offended  dignity,  or  both, 
in  the  ascendant,  and  exclaimed,  ferociously,  'Is  this  a 
tavern !  are  you  all  dead !  where  's  the  landlord !  the 
hostler !  Got  any  hay  —  oats  !  —  any  thing  for  a  gentle 
man  to  eat !  —  any  place  to  sleep  ! ' — when  Bulliphant  rub 
bed  open  his  eyes  with  the  knuckle  of  his  fore-finger,  gave 
a  sleepy  nod,  and  stumbled  toward  the  door,  to  provide  for 
his  furious  guest  and  his  horse. 

The  stranger  walked  into  the  bar-room,  unwound  two  or 
three  gaudy  shawls  from  his  neck,  took  off  an  over-coat,  a 
surtout-coat,  shed  a  pair  of  India-rubber  travelling-boots, 
run  both  of  his  hands  deep  into  his  breeches-pockets,  took 
half  a  dozen  pompous  strides  across  the  floor,  looking  down 
all  the  while  in  abstracted  mood  at  his  feet,  paraded  before 
a  glass,  twisted  one  of  the  locks  of  his  hair  around  his  fore 
finger,  and  finally  brought  up  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
where  he  stood,  his  hands  holding  apart  the  skirts  of  his  coat, 
and  his  attention  fixed  upon  something  on  the  ceiling. 

Turtle  measured  him  with  his  eyes  several  times  from 
head  to  foot;  the  'Colonel'  hitched  out  of  his  way  and 
begged  his  pardon,  when,  in  fact,  he  was  not  at  all  in  his 
way ;  the  Squire  was  quite  overcome  at  the  amount  of  op 
posing  dignity  brought  so  directly  in  contact  with  liirn  ; 


TOO   LATE   FOR   CHICKENS.  147 

Bates  gravely  whistled  Yankee  Doodle,  gazing  out  of  the 
window,  and  winked  over  his  shoulder  at  Beagle  and  Swipes, 
who  winked  back  again. 

Bulliphant  returned  wide  awake.  'Any  turkeys  or 
chickens  ? '  inquired  the  stranger. 

'All  gone  to  roost,'  answered  Bulliphant,  with  a  grave 
kind  of  brevity. 

'  Take  a  broiled  chicken,'  said  the  stranger,  giving  a  heavy 
hawk,  with  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  and  spitting  half  across 
the  floor. 

'  Have  to  take  it  feathers  and  all,  then,'  said  Bulliphant  — 
*  wimin  folks  are  superstitious  —  do  n't  b'lieve  it 's  right  to 
pick  fowls  in  the  night  —  't  was  jest  so  with  my  wife's  grand 
mother —  she  had  the  same  complaint.' 

The  stranger  looked  very  hard  at  Bulliphant,  and  spit 
again,  somewhat  spitefully. 

'Can  give  you  mush,  souse,  slap-jacks,  briled  pork,'  con 
tinued  Bulliphant,  looking  quizzically  toward  Turtle. 

The  stranger  said,  *  he  thought  he  'd  stopped  at  a  tav 
ern  —  but  he  'd  a  great  deal  better  turned  himself  into  the 
woods,  and  browsed  for  supper '  —  and  heaving  a  long  sigh, 
sat  down,  and  crossed  his  legs  in  a  settled  mood  of  despera 
tion. 

Bulliphant  said  '  there  warn't  no  cause  for  alarm  —  he  'd 
seen  sicker  men  than  he  die  —  and  get  well,  too.' 

The  stranger  grunted  and  shifted  his  legs. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  All  the  Puddlefordians,  except 
Ike  and  Bates,  who  were  absorbed  in  their  game,  were  look 
ing  soberly  and  steadily  into  the  burning  logs. 

'  Turtle,'  exclaimed  Swipes,  at  last,  breaking  the  solitude  — 
'  is  that  man  goin'  to  die  ? ' 

'Can't   tell,'  replied   Turtle;    'his   life's   on   a   pize  — 


148          PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

may  turn  one  way,  may  turn  to'ther,'  and  lie  took  out  his 
pipe,  and  blew  a  long  whiff. 
'Sleep  well,  last  night?' 

*  Groan'd  some  'bout  mid-night.' 

Swipes  looked  very  sad,  and  the  stranger's  eyes  passed 
from  face  to  face  with  anxious  looks. 

'Ain't  goin'  to  bleed  to  death?' 

'  Not  zactly  that,  but  mortification 's  goin'  to  set  in,  and 
he  cannot  stand  it  long,  when  that  takes  him.' 

*  Dear  me ! '  exclaimed  the  Colonel. 
'Very  strange  easel'   added  the  Squire. 

*  Great  loss !'  rejoined  Bates. 

The  stranger,  who  was  none  other  than  the  junior  mem 
ber  of  the  firm  of  Follet,  Fizzlet  &  Farindale,  dry-goods 
merchants,  doing  business  in  the  city  of  New-York,  and  who 
was  out  at  Puddleford  hunting  up  the  firm  of  Whistle  & 
Sharp,  a  couple  of  creditors,  whose  account  had  been  in  the 
rear  for  some  time  —  the  stranger,  I  say,  became  very 
anxious  to  hear  the  particulars  of  the  man  whose  life  was  in 
jeopardy  —  and  he  exclaimed,  before  he  thought  —  *  What 
is  it,  gentlemen  ?  —  who  's  hurt  ? ' 

'  Why,'  said  Ike,  his  face  all  the  while  cast-iron,  and  his 
eyes  steadily  fixed  on  his  game;  'why,  you  see,  old 
mother  Gantlet  was  took  with  a  violent  mis'ry  in  her 
head  —  Sent  for  Doct.  Teazle  —  our  village  doctor  here  — 
the  old  'oman  said  her  head  would  bust  —  doctor  said  it 
would  n't  —  the  old  'oman  said  it  would  —  the  Doctor  said 
he  'd  tie  it  up  —  and  he  did  try  to  tie  it  up,  stranger  —  and 
while  he  was  busy,  her  head  did  bust,  and  blew  off  the 
Doctor's  thumb  and  fore-finger '  —  and  Ike  shoved  a  man 
into  the  king-row  and  crowned  him,  without  a  look  at  Mr. 
Farindale,  his  face  all  the  while  as  rigid  as  a  tomb-stone. 

Mr.  Farindale  gave  a  long  whistle,  and  immediately  called 


MR.    FARINDALE.  149 

for  a  cigar ;  the  Colonel  dropped  a  quid  of  tobacco  into  his 
hand,  and  gave  it  a  toss  across  the  bar-room;  Longbow 
shot  forth  a  dignified  spit  into  the  fire,  or  rather  it  seemed 
to  shoot  out  itself,  without  moving  a  muscle,  and  Bates 
stroked  his  chin  several  times  with  his  left  hand. 

A  long  pause  ensued.  '  What  became  of  the  woman  2 ' 
inquired  Farindale,  after  five  minutes,  looking  sharply  at  Ike. 

*  She  hain't  been  heer'd  on  since,  as  I  knows  on,1  replied 
Ike  ;  '  but  the  doctor 's  in  a  dref-ul  state.' 

The  game  of  chequers  closed,  and  Ike  and  Bates  moved 
around  near  Mr.  Farindale. 

1  Stranger,'  said  Ike, '  travelled  long  in  these  ere  parts  2 ' 

1  Not  long  —  but  long  enough.' 

'Goin'on?' 

*  On  where  2 ' 

*  Why,  on  to  the  next  place  2 ' 

1  Does  Whistle  &  Sharp  live  hereabouts  2 '  inquired  Farin 
dale,  without  answering  Ike's  qustions. 

1  To  be  sure  they  do,'  said  Ike ;  'I  know  'em  like  a  book ; 
am  their  'torney.' 

*  Their    attorney  —  you    their    attorney  —  attorney    of 
Whistle  &  Sharp,'  said  the  stranger  slowly  and  musingly, 
scratching  his  head  with  his  fore-finger. 

'  Got  any  thing  for  'em  or  agin  'em  2 '  inquired  Ike. 

'Are  they  good  pay  2 '  inquired  the  stranger. 

'Allers  pays  at  the  end  of  an  execution,'  replied  Ike  — 
never  before  —  allers  takes  a  receipt  on  the  docket  —  make 
their  settlements  a  matter  of  record  —  puts  things  where 
they  can 't  be  ripp'd  up  —  best  way,  ain't  it,  stranger  2 ' 

The  stranger  grunted,  *  Humph ! ' 

*  And  then,'  said  Ike,  l  there  's  no  dispute  'bout  authority 
to  collect.    Every  body  can't  tell  who  every  body's  agent  is. 
One  New-York  dark  run'd  away  one  year  with  all  the  col- 


150  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

lections  from  Puddleford  in  his  breeches  pocket;  but  the 
Court  has  authority  —  gin'ral  jurisdiction  —  and  the  dis 
charge  of  a  Court  is  a  discharge  what  is  a  discharge.' 

*  That 's  a  real  opinion,'  exclaimed  Longbow,  who  had  not 
spoken  for  half  an  hour ;  *  there 's  nothin'  like  a  Court  to  put  a 
finish  on-ter  things ; '  and  the  Squire  gave  two  or  three  heavy 
coughs,  and  blew  his  nose  into  his  red  cotton-handkerchief, 
and  doubling  it  up  into  a  wad,  looked  around  very  gravely 
at  Farindale  as  he  dropped  it  back  into  his  hat. 

'Authority!  The  authority  of  Courts  to  collect  debts! 
They  may  have  authority,  but  I  never  saw  a  Court  that  had 
the  power  to  collect  a  debt  of  me,'  exclaimed  the  Colonel, 
shifting  his  tobacco  from  one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the  other 
as  he  spoke ;  '  and  I  never  put  in  a  plea  in  my  life  —  the 
plea  always  puts  itself  in,  and  is  a  dead  bar  to  further  pro 
ceedings  every  time  — '  no  assets '  —  '  nothing  whereon  to 
levy'  — 

'•Nully  Bony  !  Nully  Bony  !  you  mean,'  said  the  Squire, 
horror-stricken  at  the  Colonel's  use  of  law  language. 

1  That  'B  it,'  said  Bates ;  '  hain't  got  nothin'  to  get  onter '  — 

*  And   ain't  no  where  to  be  found,  nor  nothin','  added 
Turtle. 

'  Just  so,'  said  the  Colonel ;  '  a  kind  of  general  suspension 
for  want  of  capital  —  the  fiddle 's  on  hand,  but  the  bow  is 
gone.' 

The  stranger  was  puzzled  at  the  Puddlefordian  view  of  pay 
ing  debts,  and  wondered  if  Whistle  &  Sharp  were  advocates 
of  the  same  doctrine. 

'  Stranger ! '  said  Bates,  turning  the  subject  of  conversa 
tion  ;  '  do  you  ever  hunt  ? ' 

'  Never,'  answered  Farindale. 

'  Rare  sport  to-night,  going  a-sniping,'  said  Bates. 


HUNTING    SNIPE.  151 

inquired  the  stranger,  emphasizing  tne  first 
syllable ;  '  «m'-ping  !  what  is  sm-ping  ?  ' 

«#m  ping,'  answered  Bates  —  '  why,  catching  snipe,  to  be 
sure/ 

*  Great  sport,'  said  the  Colonel ;  '  bagged  three  hundred 
night  before  last1 

'  The  real  yaller  legs,  too ! '  remarked  Turtle. 

Farindale  said  '  he  would  like  to  accompany  them — never 
saw  a  snipe  in  his  life  —  would  like  to  take  one  back  to  the 
city.  Do  they  sing  ? '  he  inquired,  turning  to  Turtle. 

*  Great  singers  !  catch  any  tune !  s'prising  critters  to  lam,' 
answered  Ike:   'got  one  up  to  my  house  that  goes  thro* 
half  of '  Old  Hundred,'  by  jest  hearing  the  folks  hum  it  round 
the  house/ 

*  jRe-mark-able ! '  exclaimed  Farindale. 
'Great  eating,  too,'  said  Longbow. 

'  Hain't  got  mor'  n  two  or  three  bones  in  their  whole  body ; 
all  the  rest  meat,'  said  Bates. 

Preparations  were  immediately  made  for  the  sniping  ex 
pedition.  The  stranger  put  on  his  India-rubber  boots,  and 
shawls,  and  overcoat ;  Ike  procured  a  large  bag  of  Bulli- 
phant ;  and  all  hands,  excepting  Squire  Longbow,  whose 
dignity  forbade  any  thing  like  sport,  wended  their  way  to  the 
river,  where,  Turtle  said,  '  there  were  whole  droves  on  'em.' 

4  Now,'  whispered  Turtle,  drawing  Farindale  close  to  him, 
and  holding  his  arm  all  the  while  as  he  spoke  in  his  ear,  'we 
must  keep  very  still  —  snipe  are  scary  critters,  and  when 
they  get  frightened  they  put  straight  for  the  river.  There  is 
a  big  log  out  yonder  —  a  favorite  spot  of  theirs  —  down  which 
they  travel  and  jump  off  into  the  river.  You  jest  take  this 
ere  bag,  creep  softly  down  to  the  log,  slip  the  bag  over  the  end 
on  't,  and  wait  there  until  we  drive  in  the  snipe.  Do  n't 
speak  —  do  n't  move  ;  make  'em  think  you  are  the  trunk  of 


152  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

a  tree ;  and  when  the  bag  is  full,  slip  it  off  and  close  it  in  a 
jiffey.' 

'  Yes !  yes ! '  whispered  back  Farindale. 

*  Mind,  do  n't  stir  from  your  post  'til  I  halloo.7 

'  No !  no ! '  said  Farindale. 

Farindale  did  as  he  was  directed.  He  found,  however,  a 
foot  of  black  muck ;  but,  after  *  slumping '  awhile,  he  ma 
naged  to  plant  his  spread  legs  out  like  a  pair  of  extended 
compasses,  and  slide  the  bag  over  the  log.  Here  he  stood, 
half  bent  together,  grasping  the  bag,  and  waiting  for  snipe. 

There  was  a  beating  of  the  bushes  around  him  ;  then  all 
was  still ;  then  another  beating  and  another,  and  then  a  longer 
silence.  Farindale  was  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  in  the 
mud,  and  the  water  was  nearly  to  the  top  of  his  boots.  By 
and  by,  the  noises  ceased  —  no  footstep  could  be  heard,  and 
the  stranger  was  alone  with  the  bag  and  the  log,  and  half  up 
to  his  middle  —  waiting  for  snipe. 

What  ever  became  of  the  Puddlefordians  is  more  than  I 
can  say.  Farindale  returned  to  the  Eagle  alone.  Early  the 
next  morning  he  might  have  been  found  in  anxious  consulta 
tion  with  Whistle  &  Sharp  concerning  a  claim  there  of  a 
hundred  and  twelve  dollars,  and  interest  after  six  months, 
which  he  was  very  desirous  to  secure  or  settle.  Mr.  Whistle, 
the  senior  member  of  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  was  a 
very  thin-faced  man,  with  sandy  hair  that  had  seldom  been 
combed,  and  he  wore  a  faded  blue  coat  with  metal  buttons, 
the  two  behind  having  been  placed  just  under  his  arm-pits, 
which  made  him  look  as  though  some  invisible  power  was 
all  the  while  lifting  him  up  from  the  ground.  His  woollen 
pantaloons  had  passed  so  many  times  through  the  wash-tub, 
that  he  was  obliged  to  strain  out  the  wrinkles  when  he  put 
them  on,  and  they  clung  as  tight  to  his  legs  as  his  skin. 
Sharp  was  a  little  man,  had  a  long  face,  and  his  mouth 


FARINDALE   AND   HIS   DEBTORS.  153 

seemed  to  have  been  bored  —  for  it  was  round  —  about  mid 
way  between  his  chin  and  his  forehead ;  and  he  was  always 
wasping  around,  giving  consequential  orders  about  nothing, 
and  very  often  spoke  of  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  and 
what  Whistle  &  Sharp  had  done,  and  what  Whistle  &  Sharp 
could  do,  and  would  do. 

Mr.  Whistle  informed  Mr.  Farindale  that  *  the  debt  could 
not  be  paid  at  present,  although,'  he  added,  '  that  the  firm 
of  Whistle  &  Sharp  were  good  for  ten  times  the  amount/ 

'And  another  ten  top  of  that,'  added  Sharp,  from  the  other 
end  of  the  store,  where  he  was  tumbling  down  and  putting 
up  goods  by  way  of  exercise. 

'  Can  you  secure  them  ? '  inquired  Farindale. 
Well,  now,  you  have  said  it ! '  exclaimed  Whistle,  with 
apparent  astonishment.     *  What  can  be  safer  than  the  firm 
of  Whistle  &  Sharp  ?  —  secure  ! —  never  had  such  a  thing 
hinted  before  during  the  ten  years  of  our  business  ! ' 

'A  mortgage,'  insinuated  Farindale. 

'  Can't  do  that  —  not  no  how :  my  old  grandfather  was 
swept  out  clean  with  a  mortgage  once ;  took  all  he  had,  and 
he  was  compelled  to  emigrate ;  died  of  broken  heart  at  last.' 

'  Then,'  said  Farindale,  '  I  must  sue.' 

1  What !  sue  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp !  very  well,  Sir, 
do,  if  you  please.' 

*  Yes-sir-ee  —  horse-cob !  Mr.  Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Farindale,' 
exclaimed  Sharp,  springing  at  one  bound  over  the  counter  ; 
'just  sue  us  if — you  —  please:  we'll  pay  the  costs!'  and 
Sharp  whistled  a  tune  with  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon  Fa-' 
rindale. 

1  Court  sits  next  month,'  said  Whistle. 

'And  we  '11  confess  judgment,'  said  Sharp. 

'And  the  pay  is  sure,'  said  Whistle. 


154  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

'And  no  trouble  here-arter?'  said  Sharp. 

Mr.  Farindale  began  to  think  another  sniping  expedition 
was  afoot.  He  was  not  a  coward,  if  his  cockneyism  had 
lured  him  after  snipe ;  but  he  was  unable  to  determine  what 
kind  of  people  the  Puddlefordians  were.  He  had  never  met 
any  thing  like  them.  So  he  sat  in  his  chair,  the  account 
against  Whistle  &  Sharp  in  his  hand,  tapping  the  floor  with 
his  right  foot,  trying  to  devise  some  way  to  secure  his  claim. 

A  thought  struck  him.  '  Pay  it,  and  I  will  make  a  dis 
count  of  twenty-five  per  cent,'  said  he. 

'  What 's  that  you  say  I '  indignantly  exclaimed  Sharp. 
*  Do  you  mean  to  injure  our  firm  1  —  the  firm  of  Whistle  & 
Sharp,  who  pay  dollar  for  dollar !  That  ere,  Sir,  is  an  insult. 
There  's  the  door  —  walk !  Sue !  but  you  can't  insult  us  on 
our  own  premises.  That 's  the  way  to  talk  it,  Sir ! '  And 
Mr.  Farindale  did  go,  and  he  did  sue,  and  the  firm  recovered 
a  judgment  against  Whistle  &  Sharp  for  the  sum  of  three 
hundred  and  twenty-four  dollars  and  sixteen  cents,  and  costs 
of  suit. 

It  was  no  great  matter  to  recover  a  judgment  against  a 
Puddlefordian ;  but  it  was  something  of  a  business  to  realize 
the  damages.  And  that  the  reader  may  understand  what 
kind  of  a  prospect  Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Farindale  had  for  their 
money,  it  is  necessary  to  speak  of  the  laws  then  in  force  for 
the  collection  of  debts.  The  new  States  at  that  time  were 
entirely  *  shingled  over '  with  relief  laws,  which  were  passed 
to  save  the  property  of  the  pioneer  from  sacrifice.  There 
was  scarcely  any  money  in  Puddleford,  and  exchanges  were 
made  by  barter.  Personal  property  was  valued  by  its  rela-. 
tion  to  other  property :  eight  yards  of  calico  were  worth  so 
much  wheat,  corn,  potash,  cord- wood,  or  saw-logs.  The  mer 
chant  managed  to  turn  his  grain  into  high  wines,  or  put  it 


RELIEF     LAWS.  155 

in  some  other  shape  that  would  bear  transportation,  and  he 
was  thus  enabled  in  time  to  pay  his  "debts.  The  farmer  gave 
the  mechanic  an  order  on  the  merchant;  the  professional 
man  took  an  order  on  the  merchant ;  the  day-laborer  took 
an  order  on  the  merchant ;  every  body  took  an  order  on  the 
merchant.  The  merchant  was  general  paymaster :  what  he 
could  not,  or  would  not  pay,  remained  unpaid ;  and  he,  in 
his  turn,  swept  the  farmer's  crops,  and  took  every  thing  avail 
able  ;  and  the  balance  yet  his  due,  and  remaining  unpaid,  if 
any,  was  carried  over  against  the  farmer,  and  against  the 
next  crop.  Thus,  the  whole  business  of  Puddleford  ran 
through  the  merchant  like  wheat  through  a  mill,  and  gene 
rally  at  a  profit  to  the  latter  of  from  seventy-five  to  a  hun 
dred  per  cent. 

It  was  this  condition  of  the  country  that  drove  the  legis 
lature  into  the  enactment  of  relief-laws.  As  there  was  no 
money  to  pay  debts,  it  was  enacted  that  property  should  be 
a  legal  tender.  The  law  in  force,  at  the  date  of  the  judg 
ment  against  Whistle  &  Sharp,  was  a  beautiful  specimen  of 
legislative  impudence  and  ingenuity.  It  was  a  relief-law  I 
One  section  of  the  act  provided,  in  substance,  that  upon  the 
presentation  of  an  execution,  issued  by  any  Court  in  the 
State,  by  the  officer  to  whom  the  same  shall  be  directed,  to 
the  debtor  or  debtors  mentioned  therein,  such  debtor  or  debt 
ors  may  turn  out  any  property,  personal  or  real,  to  said  of- 
cer  who  shall  levy  on  the  same ;  and  the  said  officer  shall 
cause  the  same  to  be  appraised  by  three  appraisers,  one  to 
be  chosen  by  the  plaintiff,  one  by  the  defendant,  and  one  by 
the  officer,  who  shall  forthwith  be  sworn,  etc.,  and  proceed 
to  appraise  said  property  turned  out  at  its  true  cash  value ; 
and  the  said  plaintiff  in  such  execution  shall  receive  said 
property  at  two  thirds  its  appraised  value ;  and,  if  he  refuse, 
he  shall  not  proceed  any  farther  with  his  execution,  or  have 


156  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

another,  until  he  first  pay  up  all  the  costs  of  said  appraise 
ment* 

An  execution  was  issued  by  J.  Snappit,  Esq.,  attorney  for 
Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Farindale,  upon  the  judgment  recorded  as 
aforesaid,  against  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  and  put  into 
the  hands  of  the  sheriff  for  collection. 

Now  the  sheriff  of  the  county  which  included  Puddleford 
within  its  limits  was  an  accommodating  man,  a  humane  man, 
a  man  of  the  people,  a  —  politician.  He  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  oppress  debtors  who  were  unfortunately  unable 
to  pay  their  debts  —  for  the  people  elected  him.  Follett, 
Fizzlet  &  Farindale  never  voted  for  him  —  never  could  vote 
for  him ;  Whistle  &  Sharp  had,  and  would  again.  So  the 
sheriff  went  down  to  Puddleford,  and  very  politely  informed 
them,  with  a  wink,  that '  he  had  that  execution  against  them, 
and  it  must  be  paid.' 

'Jest  so — jest  so,'  answered  Sharp,  reading  over  the  writ: 
'  Whistle  &  Sharp  always  pay  —  always  have  a  pile  of  assets 
ready  for  a  levy ; '  and  returning  the  execution  to  the  sheriff, 
begged  a  moment's  delay,  until '  we  could  consult  with  our 
attorney.' 

Mr.  Turtle  was  consulted,  and  the  conclusion  of  Sharp's 
interview-with  him  amounted  to  this :  that  Turtle  should  go 
immediately,  and  purchase  for  Whistle  &  Sharp  the  old 
steamboat-cylinder,  crank,  and  shaft ;  and  the  parties  sepa 
rated. 

The  steamboat-cylinder,  crank,  and  shaft,  alluded  to,  was 
what  Turtle  called  the  « Puddleford  bank  —  metallic  basis.' 
Some  years  before,  a  steamboat,  on  an  exploring  expedition 
up  the  river  among  its  windings  and  sand-bars,. was  wrecked, 
and  a  heavy  cylinder,  crank,  and  shaft,  thrown  ashore  at 

*  This  is  the  substance  of  a  portion  of  the  act,  as  it  stood  in  force 
some  years. 


THE   APPRAISERS.  157 

Puddleford,  where  they  lay  at  the  period  I  speak  of,  and  had 
for  a  long  time,  deeply  imbedded  in  sand.  This  mass  of  iron, 
weighing  many  tons,  had  for-  a  long  time  been  a  perpetual 
bar  to  the  collection  of  all  debts  against  Puddlefordians. 
Chitty,  in  his  Pleadings,  never  invented  one  so  omnipotent. 
It  suspended  every  execution  directed  against  it.  It  was 
transferred,  by  bill  of  sale,  from  one  Puddlefordian  to  anoth 
er,  (as  no  creditor  was  ever  found  willing  to  receive  it  at  any 
price,)  as  necessity  required,  and  was  considered,  by  common 
consent,  public  property  —  a  *  bank,'  as  Turtle  called  it,  *  to 
which  any  person  had  a  right  to  resort  in  distress.'* 

Turtle  took  a  bill  of  sale  of  this  iron  from  the  last  man  in 
trouble,  and  turned  it  out  to  the  sheriff  on  the  execution 
against  Whistle  &  Sharp. 

*  Now,  Mr.  Sheriff,'  said  Turtle,  triumphantly,  *  bring  on 
your  appraers :  a  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  property  to  pay 
a  little  over  three  hundred.  My  clients,  Whistle  &  Sharp, 
are  bunkum  yet  —  allers  stands  up  to  the  rack  at  the  end  of 
an  execution.  Bring  on  your  appmers,  Mr.  Sheriff.' 

Mr.  Turtle  chose  an  appraiser  first  —  a  second  cousin  of 
Mr.  Whistle,  of  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  and  a  man 
who  was  deeply  in  debt  on  their  books  —  a  bilious,  weazen- 
faced,  melancholy-looking  man,  who  had  acquired  a  great 
reputation  for  wisdom  by  saying  nothing  —  whose  name  was 
Clinket.  No  one  appearing  to  choose  for  the  plaintiffs,  the 
sheriff  selected  the  other  two.  He  named  Mr.  Troper,  a 
seedy  old  fellow,  whose  crown  was  half  out  of  his  hat,  whose 
beard  was  white,  his  nose  red,  and  who  had  a  whiskey- 
cough,  and  who  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  barrel-tap 
of  Whistle  &  Sharp  three  or  four  times  a  day,  in  considera 
tion  of  odd  jobs  performed  by  him  around  the  store ;  also, 
Mr.  Fatter,  a  chubby-faced,  twinkle-eyed  wag,  who  would 

*  This  is  a  literal  fact. 


158  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

not  hesitate  to  perpetrate  a  good  joke,  even  under  oath,  par 
ticularly  upon  non-residents. 

The  Puddlefordians  were  out  in  mass  to  see  Follett  &  Co. 
try  a  run  on  their  '  bank.'  Many  remarks  were  made. 

Bulliphant  said  'the  cylinder  alone  cost  five  hundred  dol 
lars.' 

Snipes  said  *  it  was  a  bully  piece  of  stuff.' 

'  How  much  is  the  debt  ? '  inquired  Bates. 

*  Two  thirds  of  twelve  hundred,'  exclaimed  Turtle,  loudly, 
'  is  eight  hundred.' 

'Worth  the  debt  for  old  iron,'  said  the  Colonel. 

These  remarks,  designed  for  the  appraisers,  had  their  ef 
fect  ;  they  examined ;  they  figured  ;  retired  for  consultation ; 
returned ;  retired  again ;  and  finally  appraised  the  property 
turned  out  at  sixteen  hundred  dollars  ;  paying,  at  two  thirds 
its  value,  the  debt  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  and  leaving  a  very 
handsome  surplus  due  them  from  their  creditors.  But  I  am 
very  happy  to  be  enabled  to  say  that  Whistle  &  Sharp 
most  magnanimously  offered  to  release  all  their  claim  on  the 
levy  to  Follett  &  Co.,  if  they  would  take  the  property,  and 
discharge  the  judgment  and  costs,  '  making,'  as  they  said  in 
their  letter  to  them,  *  a  clear  profit  on  their  part  of  from  four 
to  five  hundred  dollars.' 


MORE    ARRIVALS.  159 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  'Fev'  Nag' —  Conflicting  Theories—  '  Oxergin  and  Hydergin'— 
Teazle's  Rationale— The  Scourge  of  the  West  —  Silo  Bates,  and 
his  Condition  —  Squire  Longbow,  and  Jim  Buzzard  —  Puddleford 
Prostrate  —  Various  Practitioners  — '  The  Billerous  Duck '  —  Pio 
neer  Martyrs — Wave  over  "Wave. 

DURING  my  first  fall's  residence  at  Puddleford,  I  frequently 
heard  a  character  spoken  of,  who  seemed  to  be  full  as  famous 
in  the  annals  of  the  place  as  Squire  Longbow  himself.  He 
was  called  by  a  great  variety  of  names,  and  very  seldom 
alluded  to  with  respect.  He  was  termed  the  '  Fev-Nag,'  the 
'Ag-an-Fev,'  the  '  Shakin'  Ager,'  the  '  Shakes,'  and  a  great 
variety  of  other  hard  names  were  visited  upon  him. 

That  he  was  the  greatest  scourge  Puddleford  had  to  con 
tend  with,  no  one  denied.  Who  he  really  was,  what  he  was, 
where  born,  and  for  what  purpose,  was  a  question.  Dobbs 
had  one  theory,  Short  another,  and  Teazle  still  another.  Dr. 
Dobbs  said  '  that  his  appearance  must  be  accounted  for  in 
this  wise  —  that  the  marshes  were  all  covered  with  water  in 
the  Spring,  that  the  sun  began  to  grow  so  all-fir' d  hot  'long 
'bout  July  and  August,  that  it  cream'd  over  the  water  with 
a  green  scum,  and  rotted  the  grass,  and  this  all  got  stewed 
inter  a  morning  fog,  that  rose  up  and  elated  itself  among  the 
Ox-er-gin  and  Hy-der-gin,  and  pizened  every  body  it  touched.' 

Dr.  Dobbs  delivered  this  opinion  at  the  public  house,  in  a 
very  oracular  style.  I  noticed  several  Puddlefordians  in  his 
presence  at  the  time,  and  before  he  closed,  their  jaws  drop- 


160  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

peel,  and  their  gaping  mouths  and  expanded  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him  with  wonder. 

Dr.  Teazle  declared  that  '  Dobbs  did  n't  know  any  thing 
about  it.  He  said  the  ager  was  buried  up  in  the  airth,  and 
that  when  the  sile  was  turned  up,  it  got  loose,  and  folks 
breath'd  it  into  their  lungs  and  from  the  lungs  it  went  into 
the  liver,  and  from  the  liver  it  went  to  the  kidneys,  and  the 
secretions  got  fuzzled  up,  and  the  bile  turn'd  black,  and  the 
blood  did  n't  run,  and  it  set  every  body's  inards  all  a-tremblinV 

Without  attempting  the  origin  of  the  ague  and  fever,  it 
was,  and  always  has  been  the  scourge  of  the  West.  It  is 
the  foe  that  the  West  has  ever  had  to  contend  with.  It 
delays  improvement,  saps  constitutions,  shatters  the  whole 
man,  and  lays  the  foundation  for  innumerable  diseases  that 
follow  and  finish  the  work  for  the  grave.  It  is  not  only 
ague  and  fever  that  so  seriously  prostrates  the  pioneer;  but 
the  whole  family  of  intermittent  and  remittent  fevers,  all 
results  of  the  same  cause,  press  in  to  destroy.  Perhaps  no 
one  evil  is  so  much  dreaded.  Labor,  privation,  poverty  are 
nothing  in  comparison.  It  is,  of  course,  fought  in  a  great 
variety  of  ways,  and  the  remedies  are  as  numerous  as  they 
are  ridiculous.  A  physician  who  is  really  skillful  in  the 
treatment  of  these  diseases  is,  of  course,  on  the  road  to 
wealth,  but  skillful  physicians  were  not  frequent  in  Puddle- 
ford,  as  the  reader  has  probably  discovered. 

I  recollect  that  during  the  months  of  September  and 
October,  subsequently  to  my  arrival,  all  Puddleford  was 
4  down,'  to  use  the  expression  of  the  country ;  and  if  the 
reader  will  bear  with  me,  and  pledge  himself  not  to  accuse 
me  of  trifling  with  so  serious  a  subject,  I  will  endeavor  to 
describe  Puddleford  'in  distress.' 

I  will  premise  by  saying  that  it  is  expected  that  persons 


SILE   BATES   DOWN.  161 

who  are  on  their  feet  during  these  visitations,  give  up  their 
time  and  means  to  those  who  are  not.  There  is  a  noble 
ness  of  soul  in  a  western  community  in  this  respect,  that 
does  honor  to  human  nature.  A  village  is  one  great  family — 
every  member  must  be  provided  for  —  old  grudges  are,  for 
the  time,  buried. 

I  have  now  a  very  vivid  remembrance  of  seeing  Sile  Bates, 
one  bright  October  morning,  walking  through  the  main 
street  of  Puddleford,  at  the  pace  of  a  funeral  procession,  his 
old  winter  overcoat  on,  and  a  faded  shawl  tied  about  his 
cheeks.  Sile  informed  me  '  that  he  believed  the  ager  was 
comin'  on-ter  him  —  that  he  had  a  spell  on 't  the  day  be 
fore,  and  the  day  before  that  —  that  he  had  been  a-stewin' 
up  things  to  break  the  fits,  and  clean  out  his  constitution, 
but  it  stuck  to  him  like  death  on-ter  a  nigger'  —  he  said  'his 
woman  and  two  boys  were  shakin'  like  all  possess't,  and  he 
rally  believed  if  some  body  did  n't  stop  it,  the  log  cabin 
would  tumble  down  round  their  ears.'  He  said  '  there 
war  n't  nobody  to  do  nuthin'  'bout  house,  and  that  all  the 
neighbors  were  worse  off  than  he  was.' 

Sile  was  a  melancholy  object  indeed.  And  in  all  con 
science,  reader,  did  you  ever  behold  so  solemn,  wo-begone  a 
thing  on  the  round  earth,  as  a  man  undergoing  the  full 
merits  of  ague  and  fever  1  Sile  sat  down  on  a  barrel  and 
commenced  gaping  and  stretching,  and  now  and  then  drop 
ped  a  remark  expressive  of  his  condition.  He  finally  began 
to  chatter,  and  the  more  he  chattered,  the  more  ferocious 
he  waxed.  He  swore  *  that  if  he  ever  got  well,  he  'd  burn 
his  house,  sell  his  traps,  'bandon  his  land,  pile  his  family 
into  his  cart,  hitch  on  his  oxen,  and  drive  'em,  and  drive  'em 
to  the  north  pole,  where  there  war  n't  no  ager,  he  knew. 
One  minit,'  he  said,  'he  was  a-freezin',  and  then  he  was  a- 
burnin',  and  then  he  was  a-sweatin'  to  death,  and  then  he 


162  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

had  a  well  day,  and  that  did  n't  'mount  to  nothin',  for  the 
critter  was  only  gettin' strength  to  jump  on  him  agin  the 
next.'  Sile  at  last  exhausted  himself,  and  getting  upon  his 
feet  went  off  muttering  and  shaking  toward  his  house. 

The  next  man  I  met  was  Squire  Longbow.  The  Squire 
was  moving  slower,  if  possible,  than  Bates.  His  face  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  just  turned  out  of  yellow  oak,  and  his  eyes 
were  as  yellow  as  his  face.  As  the  Squire  never  surrendered 
to  any  thing,  I  found  him  not  disposed  to  surrender  to  ague 
and  fever.  He  said  '  he  'd  only  had  a  little  brush,  but  he  'd 
knock  it  out  on-him  in  a  day  or  two.  He  was  jist  goin'  out 
to  scrape  some  elder  bark  up,  to  act  as  an  emetic,  as  Aunt 
Sonora  said  if  he  scraped  it  down,  it  would  have  t'  other 
effect  —  and  that  would  kill  it  as  dead  as  a  door-nail.' 

I  soon  overhauled  Jim  Buzzard,  lying  half  asleep  in  the 
bottom  of  his  canoe,  brushing  off  flies  with  an  oak  branch. 
Jim,  too,  was  a  case,  but  it  required  something  more  than 
sickness  to  disturb  his  equilibrium.  Jim  said  'he  war  n't 
sick,  but  he  felt  the  awfullest  tired  any  dog  ever  did  —  he 
was  the  all-thunderest  cold  t'other  day,  he  ever  was  in  -hot 
weather  —  somethin'  'nother  came  on-ter  him  all  of  a  sud- 
dint,  and  set  his  knees  all  goin  and  his  jaws  a  quiv'rin',  and 
so  he  li'd  down  in-ter  the  sun,-but  the  more  he  li'd,  the  more 
he  kept  on  a  shakin',  and  then  that  are  all  went  off  agin, 
and  he  'd  be  darned  to  gracious,  if  he  did  n't  think  he  'd 
burn  up  —  and  so  he  just  jumped  inter  the  river,  and  cool'd 
off — and,  now  he  feel'd  jist  so  agin — and  so  he 'd  got 
where  the  sun  could  strike  him  a  little  harder  this  time. 
What  shall  a  feller  do? '  at  last  inquired  Jim. 

'  Take  medicine,'  said  I. 

1  Not  by  a  jug-full,'  said  Jim.  'Them  are  doctors  don't 
get  any  of  their  stuff  down  my  throat.  If  I  can 't  stand  it 
as  long  as  the  ager,  then  I'll  give  in.  Let-er-shake  if  it 


>  H    •     -  '--'t 

.     >/~~i  -   v-Mtt&tiSsii/K         .  \j-,iii« 


% 


$ 

KT^.^    -^     ' 

[ 


JIM   BUZZARD   AND  THE   AGER. 


"  Them  'ere  doctors  don't  pet  any  of  tlieir  stuff  down  my  throat.     If  I  can't  stand  it  us  lonfr  as  the 
iKjtr,  tlien  I'll  give  in."  ----  Page  16-2. 


GENERAL    DOWNISHNESS.  163 

warnts  to  —  it  works  harder  than  I  do,  and  will  get  tir'd 
bym-by.  Have  you  a  little  plug  by-yer  jest  now,  as  I  have  n't 
had  a  chew  sin'  morning,  as  it  may  help  a  feller  some  ? ' 
Jim  took  the  tobacco,  rolled  over  in  his  canoe,  gave  a  grunt, 
and  composed  himself  for  sleep. 

This  portrait  of  Buzzard  would  not  be  ludicrous,  if  it  was 
not  true.  Whether  Socrates  or  Plato,  or  any  other  heathen 
philosopher,  has  ever  attempted  to  define  this  kind  of  happi 
ness,  is  more  than  I  can  say.  In  fact,  reader,  I  do  hot  be- 
live  that  there  was  one  real  Jim  Buzzard  in  the  whole 
Grecian  republic. 

But  why  speak  of  individual  cases  ?  Nearly  all  Puddle- 
ford  was  prostrate  —  man,  woman,  and  child.  There  were 
a  few  exceptions,  and  the  aid  of  those  few  was  nothing  com 
pared  to  the  great  demand  of  the  sick.  It  was  providential 
that  the  nature  of  the  disease  admitted  of  one  well  day, 
because  there  was  an  opportunity  to  *  exchange  works,'  and 
the  sick  of  to-day  could  assist  the  sick  of  to-morrow,  and  so 
vice  versa. 

I  looked  through  the  sick  families,  and  found  the  patients 
in  all  conditions.  One  lady  had  'just  broke  the  ager  on-to 
her  by  sax-fax  tea,  mix'd  with  Columbo.'  Another '  had  been 
a-tryin'  eli-cum-paine  and  pop'lar  bark, but  it  didn't  lie  good 
on  her  stomach,  and  made  her  'eny  most  crazy.'  Another 
woman  was  'so  as  to  be  crawlin','  —  another  was  'getting 
quite  peert'  —  another  '  couldn't  keep  any  thing  down,  she 
felt  so  qualmy '  —  another  said,  '  the 'disease  was  runnin'  her 
right  inter  the  black  janders,  and  then  she  was  gone '  — 
another  had  '  run  clear  of  yesterday's  chill,  and  was  now 
going  to  weather  it,'  and  so  on,  through  scores  of  cases. 

It  is  worthy  of  note,  the  popular  opinion  of  the  character 
of  this  disease.  Although  Puddleford  had  been  afflicted 
with  it  for  years,  yet  it  was  no  better  understood  by  the 


164  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

mass  of  community  than  it  was  at  first.  I  have  already 
given  the  opinion  of  Dobbs  and  Teazle  of  the  causes  of  the 
ague ;  but  as  Dobbs  and  Teazle  held  entirely  different  theo 
ries,  Puddleford  was  not  much  enlightened  by  their  wisdom. 
(If  some  friend  will  inform  me  when  and  where  any  communi 
ty  was  ever  enlightened  by  the  united  opinion  of  its  physicians, 
I  will  publish  it  in  my  next  work.)  Aunt  Sonora  had  a  theory 
which  was  a  little  old,  but  it  was  hers,  and  she  had  a  right 
to  it.  She  said  '  no  body  on  airth  could  live  with  a  stomach 
full  of  bile,  and  when  the  shakin'  ager  come  on,  you  'd  jest 
got-ter  go  to  work  and  get  off  all  the  bile  —  bile  was  the 
ager,  and  physicians  might  talk  to  her  till  she  was  gray, 
'bout  well  folks  having  bile  —  she  know'd  better  —  't  war  n't 
no  such  thing.' 

Now  Aunt  Sonora  practised  upon  this  theory,  and  the 
excellent  old  lady  administered  a  cart-load  of  boneset  every 
season  —  blows  to  elevate  the  bile,  and  the  leaf  as  a  tonic. 
Ilowever  erroneous  her  theory  might  have  been,  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  her  practice  was  about  as  successful  as  that  of 
the  regular  physician. 

Mr.  Beagles  declared  '  that  the  ague  was  in  the  blood,  and 
the  patient  must  first  get  rid  of  all  his  bad  blood,  and  then 
the  ager  would  go  along  with  it.'  Swipes  said  *  it  was  all  in 
the  stomach.'  Dobbs  said  '  the  billerous  duck  chok'd  up 
with  the  mash  fogs,  and  the  secretions  went  every  which 
way,  and  the  liver  got  as  hard  as  sole-leather,  and  the 
patient  becom'  sick,  and  the  ager  set  in,  and  then  the  fever, 
and  the  hull  system  got-er  goin'  wrong,  and  if  it  war  n't 
stopped,  natur  'd  give  out,  and  the  man  would  die.'  Teazle 
said  'it  com'd  from  the  plough'd  earth,  and  got  inter  the 
air,  and  jist  so  long  as  folks  breath'd  aguery  air,  jist  so  long 
they  'd  have  the  ager.'  Turtle  said  '  the  whole  tribe  on  'em, 
men-doctors  and  women-doctors,  were  blockheads,  and  the 


VARYING   OPINIONS.  165 

surest  way  to  get  rid  of  the  ager,  was  to  let  it  run,  and  when 
it  had  run  itself  out,  it  would  stop,  and  not  afore.' 

Here  then,  was  Puddleford,  at  the  mercy  of  a  dozen 
theories,  and  yet  men  and  women  recovered,  when  the  sea 
son  had  run  its  course,  and  were  tolerably  sure  of  health, 
until  another  year  brought  around  another  instalment  of 
miasma. 

How  many  crops  of  men  have  been  swept  off  by  the 
malaria  of  every  new  western  country,  I  will  not  attempt  to 
calculate  !  How  many,  few  persons  have  ever  attempted  ! 
This  item  very  seldom  goes  into  the  cost  of  colonization. 
Pioneers  are  martyrs  in  a  sublime  sense,  and  it  is  over  their 
bones  that  school-houses,  churches,  colleges,  learning,  and 
refinement  are  finally  planted.  But  the  death  of  a  pioneer 
is  a  matter  of  no  moment  in  our  country  —  it  is  almost  as 
trifling  a  thing  as  the  death  of  a  soldier  in  an  Indian  fight. 
There  is  no  glory  to  be  won  on  any  such  field.  One  genera 
tion  rides  over  another,  like  waves  over  waves,  and  '  no  such 
miserable  interrogatory,'  as  Where  has  it  gone  ?  or  How  did 
it  go?  is  put;  but  What  did  it  do? — What  has  it  left 
behind  ? 

Any  one  who  has  long  been  a  resident  in  the  West,  must 
have  noticed  the  operation  of  climate  upon  the  constitution. 
The  man  from  the  New-England  mountains,  with  sinews  of 
steel,- soon  finds  himself  flagging  amid  western  miasma,  and 
a  kind  of  stupidity  creeps  over  him,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
shake  off.  The  system  grows  torpid,  the  energies  die,  in 
difference  takes  possession,  and  thus  he  vegetates — he  does 
not  live. 

And,  dear  reader,  it  does  not  lighten  the  gloom  of  the 
picture,  to  find  Dobbs,  and  Teazle,  and  Short  quarrelling 
over  the  remains  of  some  departed  one,  endeavoring  to  de 
lude  the  public  into  something  themselves  have  no  conception 


166  PUDDLEFORD  AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

of,  about  the  manner  in  which  he  or  she  went  out  of  the 
world.  Not  that  all  the  physicians  are  Dobbses  or  Teazles, 
but  these  sketches  are  written  away  out  on  the  rim  of  soci 
ety,  the  rim  of  Western  society,  where  the  townships  are 
not  yet  all  organized,  and  a  sacred  regard  to  truth  compels 
me  to  record  facts  as  they  exist. 


UNCOMMONLY   COMMON    SCHOOLS.  167 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Uncommonly  Common  Schools  —  Annual  School  District  Meeting  — 
Accounts  for  Contingent  Expenses —  Turtle,  and  Old  Gulick's  Boy 
—  'That  are  Glass'  —  The  Colonel  starts  the  wheels  again — Bulli- 
phant's  Tactics  —  Have  we  hired  '  Dea.  Muett's  darter,'  or  not  ?  — 
Izabel  Strickett  — Bunker  Hill  and  Turkey— Sah- Jane  Beagles— 
The  Question  Settled. 

COMMON  schools  are  said  to  be  the  engine  of  popular 
liberty.  I  think  we  had  some  of  the  most  raw-commonly 
common  schools,  at  Puddleford  that  could  be  found  any 
where  under  the  wings  of  the  American  eagle.  Our  system 
was,  of  course,  the  same  as  that  of  all  other  townships  in 
the  State,  but  its  administration  was  not  in  all  respects  what 
it  should  be.  Our  schools  were  managed  by  Puddlefordians, 
and  they  were  responsible  only  for  the  talent  which  had 
been  given  them.  Every  citizen  knows  that  our  government 
is  a  piece  of  mechanism,  made  up  of  wheels  within  wheels, 
and  while  these  wheels  are  in  one  sense  totally  independent, 
and  stand  still  or  turn  as  they  are  moved  or  let  alone,  yet 
they  may  indirectly  affect  the  whole.  In  other  words,  our 
government  is  like  a  cluster  of  Chinese  balls,  curiously 
wrought  within,  and  detached  from  each  other,  and  yet  it 
is,  after  all,  but  one  ball.  There  is  something  beautiful  in 
the  construction  and  operation  of  this  piece  of  machinery. 
A  school-district  is  one  machine,  a  township  another,  a  county 
another,  and  a  state  another  — all  independent  organiza 
tions,  yet  every  community  must-  work  its  own  organization. 
They  are  not  operated  afar  off  by  some  great  central  power, 
over  the  heads  of  the  people ;  but  they  are  worked  by  the 
people  themselves,  for  themselves. 


168  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

However  clumsily  the  work  may  be  performed  at  first, 
practice  makes  perfect,  and  men  become  the  masters,  as  well 
as  the  administrators  of  their  own  laws. 

We  had  an  annual  school-district  meeting  in  the  village 
of  Puddleford  —  and  there 'were  many  others  in  the  country 
at  the  same  time  —  for  the  township  was  cut  up  into  several 
districts,  and  I  never  attended  one  that  did  not  end  in  a  *  row,' 
to  use  a  Western  classical  expression.  The  business  of  these 
meetings  was  all  prescribed  by  statute,  and  it  amounted  to 
settling  and  allowing  the  accounts  of  the  board  for  the  last 
school  year,  voting  contingent  fund  for  the  next,  determining 
whether  a  school  should  be  taught  by  a  male  or  a  female 
teacher,  and  for  how  many  months,  and  the  election  of  new 
officers. 

The  last  meeting  I  attended,  Longbow  was  in  the  chair 
by  virtue  of  his  office  as  president  of  the  school  district  board. 
Being  organized,  the  clerk  of  the  board  presented  his  ac 
count  for  contingent  expenses,  and  Longbow  wished  to 
know  *  if  the  meetin'  would  pass  'em.' 

Turtle  '  wanted  to  hear  'em  read.' 

Longbow  said  *  the  only  account  they  had  was  in  their 
head.' 

Turtle  said  *  that  war  n't  'cording  to  the  staterts.' 

Longbow  said  'he'd  risk  that — his  word  was  as  good 
as  any  body's  writin',  or  any  statert.' 

Turtle  said  '  he  'd  hear  what  they  was,  but 't  war  n't  right, 
and  for  his  part,  he  did  n't  b'lieve  the  board  know'd  what 
they  'd  been  about  for  the  last  six  months.' 

Longbow  raised  his  green  shade  from  his  blind  eye,  rose 
on  his  feet,  looked  down  very  ferociously  upon  Turtle,  stamped 
his  foot,  and  informed  Ike  'that  this  was  an  org'nized  meet- 
in',  and  he  mustn't  reflect  on-ter  the  officers  of  the  cfo-strict; 
't  was  criminal ! ' 


SQUANDERING   FUNDS.  169 

The  account  was  then  repeated  by  Longbow,  item  by 
item,  and  among  the  rest  was  two  shillings  for  setting  glass. 
When  glass  was  mentioned,  Turtle  sprang  to  his  feet 
again.  '  Thar,  old  man/  he  exclaimed,  rapping  his  knuckles 
on  the  desk,  *  thar  's  where  I  'se  got  you  —  thar  's  a  breach  er 
trust,  a  squand'rin'  of  funds,  that'  aint  a-going  to  go  down 
in  this  ere  meeting.  Old  Gulick's  boy  broke  that  are  glass 
just  out  of  sheer  dev'ltry,  and  you  s'pose  this  ere  school 
ofc-strict  is  a-going  to  pay  for 't  ?  What  do  you  s'pose  these 
ere  staterts  was  passed  for  ?  What  do  you  s'pose  you  was 
'lected  for?  To  pay  for  old  Gulick's  boy?  —  well,  I  rather 
caklate  not,  by  the  light  of  this  ere  moon  —  not  in  this  ere 
age  of  Puddleford  ! ' 

Squire  Longbow  took  a  large  chew  of  plug-tobacco,  which 
I  thought  he  nipped  off  very  short,  and  remained  standing 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Turtle. 

Sile  Bates  rose,  and  said  4  he  wanted  to  know  the  particu 
lars  'bout  that  are  glass  ! ' 

Longbow  said  '  the  board  'spended  money  in  their  'scretion, 
and  'twarn't  fur  Turtle  c-r  Bates,  or  any  body  else,  to  'raign 
'em  up  'fore  this  'ere  me*. tin'.' 

Here  was  a  long  pause.  The  '  Colonel '  finally  arose,  put 
his  hand  deliberately  into  his  pocket,  drew  out  a  quarter, 
and  flung  it  at  the  Squire,  and  '  hop'd  the  meetin'  would  go 
on,  as  it  was  the  first  public  gathering  that  he  ever  knew 
blocked  by  twenty-five  cents.' 

This  settled  the  difficulty,  and  the  report  for  contingent 
expenses  was  adopted. 

Bulliphant  then  said  he  had  a  motion.     IT-  'naov  d  tl 
we  hii-p  Dear-m  Fhiett^  dn-rer  to  ke<  | 

The  8quir<         ':     •  le  m  -  ;  D  >,  but  it  con 

say  iiiaio  or  leuuuy  icaoiiOr.1 
8 


170  PUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    FEOPLE. 

Bulliphant  *  moved  we  hire  a  female,  and  we  recommend 
Deacon  Fluett's  darter.' 

Bates  'said  lie  jest  as  'lieve  have  one  of  FJnett's  two  year 
olds.' 

The  'Colonel'  said  'she  couldn't  spell  Baker/ 

Swipes  thought '  she  was  scarcely  fit  to  go  to  school.' 

Turtle  said  '  the  meetin'  had  n't  got  nothin'  to  do  with  it, 
no-how,  and  the  whole  motion  was  agin  law.' 

Bulliphant,  who  had  become  a  little  out  of  htimor,  then 
'moved  that  we  don't  hire  Deacon  Fluett's  darter.' 

Bates  declar'd  *  the  motion  out  of  order/ 

.The  Squire  said  '  he  guess'd  the  motion  was  proper.  The 
staterts  said  the  ineetin'  shouldn't  hire  any  body,  but  the 
de-strict  board  should  ;  and  this  ere  motion  was  just  'cording 
to  statert/ 

But  the  meeting  voted  down  Bulliphant's  motion,  and 
Bulliphant  then  declared  that  the  vote  was  '  tan-ter-mount  to 
a  resolve  to  hire  the  woman/ 

Here  was  a  parliamentary  entanglement  that  occupied  an 
hour ;  but  the  '  Colonel '  settled  it  at  last,  by  reminding  the 
president  '  that  it  was  two  negatives  that  made  one  affirma 
tive  —  not  one ; '  and  the  Squire  said  '  so  he  believed  he  had 
seen  it  laid  down  inter  the  books/ 

But  I  cannot  attempt  to  report  the  proceedings  of  this- 
miscellaneous  body.  The  business  occupied  some  four  or 
five  hours,  and  was  finally  brought  to  a  close.  A  new  school 
board  was  elected,  and  your  humble  servant  was  one  of  the 
number ;  positively  the  first  office  that  was  ever  visited  upon 
him. 

The  great  question  with  two  of  the  members  of  our  board, 
in  hiring  a  teacher,  was  the  price.  Qualification  was  second 
ary.  The  first  application  was  made  by  a  long-armed,  red- 


STRICKETT'S  EXAMINATION.  171 

necked,  fiery-headed  youth  of  about  nineteen  years,  who  had 
managed  to  run  himself  up  into  the  world  about  six  feet  two 
inches,  and  who  had  not  worn  off  his  flesh  by  hard  study, 
and  who  carried  about  him  digestive  organs  as  strong  as  the 
bowels  of  a  thrashing-machine.  He  'wanted  a  school, 'cause 
he  had  nothing  else  to  do  in  the  winter  months.' 

He  was  accordingly  introduced  to  our  School  Inspectors ; 
the  only  one  of  whom  I  knew  was  Bates.  The  other  two 
were  rather  more  frightened  at  the  presentation  than  the 
applicant  himself. 

Bates  .proposed  first  to  try  the  gentleman  in  geography, 
and  history.  *  Where's  Bunker  Hill  ? '  inquired  Bates,  au 
thoritatively. 

'Wai,  'bout  that,'  said  Strickett  —  our  applicant  called 
his  name  Izabel  Strickett  — '  'bout  that,  why,  it's  where  the 
battle  was  fit,  war  n't  it  ? ' 

'  Jes  so,'  replied  Bates  ;  '  and  where  was  that  ? ' 

'  Down  at  the  east'ard.' 

'  Who  did  the  fighting  there  ? ' 

'  Gin'ral  Washington  fit  all  the  revolution.' 

'  Where's  Spain  ? ' 

'  Where  ? '  repeated  Strickett  —  '  Spain  ?  where  is  it  3  ' 

'Yes!  where?' 

'  Wai  now,'  exclaimed  Strickett,  looking  steadily  on  the 
floor.  'I'll  be  darn'd  if  that  ere  haint  just  slipped  my 
mind.' 

'Where's' Turkey?' 

'  Oh  yes,'  said  Strickett,  '  Turkey  —  the  place  they  call 
Turkey  —  if  you  'd  ask'd  me  in  the  street,  I  'd  told  you  right 
off,  but  I  Ve  got  so  fruster'd  I  do  n't  know  nothin','  and 
thinking  a  moment,  he  exclaimed, '  it 's  where  the  Turks  live. 
I  thought  I  know'd.' 

'  How  many  States  are  there  in  the  Union  ? ' 


172          PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

'  'Tween  twenty-five  and  thirty  —  throwin'  out  Canady.' 

Bates  then  attempted  an  examination  in  reading  and  spell 
ing.  '  Spell  hos ! '  said  Bates. 

'H  —  o  —  s.' 

'  Thunder  ! '  roared  Bates.  Bates  did  know  how  to  spell 
horse.  He  had  seen  notices  of  stray  horses,  and  a  horse  was 
the  most  conspicuous  object  in  Puddleford,  excepting,  of 
course,  Squire  Longbow.  'II  —  o  —  s  I  that's  a  hos-of-a- 
way  to  spell  hos/  and  Bates  looked  at  Strickett  very  severely, 
feeling  a  pride  of  his  own  knowledge. 

Strickett  said  *  he  tis'd  the  book  when  he  teach'd  school  — 
he  did  n't  teach  out  of  his  head  —  and  he  did  n't  believe  the 
'spectors  themselves  could  spell  Ompompanoosuck  right  off, 
without  getting  stuck.' 

Izabel's  examination  was  something  after  this  sort,  through 
the  several  English  branches  ;  yet  a  majority  of  the  Board 
of  School  Inspectors  decided  to  give  him  a  certificate,  if  we 
said  so,  as  he  was  to  teach  our  school,  and  we  were  more  in 
terested  than  they  in  his  qualifications ;  and  whether  the  In 
spectors  knew  what  his  qualifications  really  were  *  this  deponent 
saith  not.'  Strickett  '  sloped.' 

The  next  application  was  by  letter.  The  epistle  declared 
that  the  applicant  *  brok'd  his  arm  inter  a  saw-mill,  and  he 
could  n't  do  much  out-door  werk  'till  it  heal'd  up  agin,  and 
if  we  'd  hire  him  to  carry  on  our  sckool,  he  tho  't  he  would 
make  it  go  well  'nough,'  —  but  the  School  Board  decided 
that  all-powerful  as  sympathy  might  be,  it  could  scarcely 
drive  a  district  school  under  such  orthography,  syntax,  and 
prosody. 

Next  appeared  Mrs.  Beagles,  in  behalf  of  her  '  Sah-Jane.' 
'  She  know'd  Sah-Jane,  and  she  know'd  Sah-Jane  was  jist 
the  thing  for  the  Puddleford  school ;  and  if  we  only  know'd 
Sah-Jane  as  well  as  she  know'd  Sah-Jane,  we  'd  have  her, 


SAH-JANE'S  ILL-SUCCESS.  173 

cost  what  it  might.'  She  said  '  Sah-Jano  was  a  most  s'pri- 
sin'  gal  —  she  hung  right  to  her  boots,  day  and  night  — 
and  she  know'd  she  had  a  sleight  at  teachin'.  Mr.  Giblett's 
folks  told  Mr.  Brown's  folks,  so  she  heer'd,  that  if  they  ever 
did  get  Sah-Jane  into  that  'ere  school,  she  'd  make  a  buzzin' 
that  would  tell  some.' 

Sah- Jane's  case  was,  however,  indefinitely  postponed. 
Some  objections,  among  other  things,  on  the  score  of  age, 
were  suggested.  This  roused  the  wrath  of  Mrs.  Beagles,  and 
she  '  guessed  her  Sah-Jane  was  old  enough  to  teach  a  Pud 
dleford  school  —  if  she  tho't  she  warn't,  she  'd  bile  her  up 
in-ter  soap-grease,  and  sell  her  for  a  shilling  a  quart !  —  and 
as  for  the  dfe-strict  board,  they  'd  better  go  to  a  school-marm 
themselves,  and  lam  something  or  be  'lected  over  agin', 
she  didn't  care  which;'  and  Mrs.  Beagles  left  at  a  very 
quick  step,  her  face  much  flushed  and  full  of  cayenne  and 
vengeance. 

There  were  a  great  many  more  applications,  and  at  last 
the  Board  hired  —  I  say  the  Board  ---/  did  'nt.  But  the 
other  members  overruled  me,  and  price,  not  qualification, 
settled  the  question  at  last. 

This  was  the  way  the  machinery  was  worked  in  our 
school-district,  during  the  very  early  days  of  Puddleford. 
As  the  stream  never  rises  above  the  fountain-head,  education 
was  quite  feeble.  But  we  do  better  now  —  there  is  less 
friction  on  our  gudgeons,  and  if  Puddleford  should  turn  out 
a  President  one  of  these  days,  it  would  be  nothing  more 
than  what  our  glorious  institutions  have  before  'ground  out' 
under  more  discouraging  circumstances. 


174  riJDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

'Abolition'  Meeting  at  Puddleford — The  Late  Rev.  Mr.  Billet  — 
Longbow,  and  his  Responsibilities  —  Collision  between  Bates  and 
the  Squire  —  The  Log-Chapel  filled — Bates'  Opening  Remarks  — 
Turtle's  Interpolations  —  An  Open  Question  —  Longbow,  to  the 
Rescue !  —  Three  Cheers  —  Appointment  of  a  President  —  Mr. 
Billet  ->-  His  Philosophy  of  the  Institution  of  Slavery  —  Turtle  on 
Hand  — What  would  Billett  Do  ?  — Resolutions  Offered  by  Silo 
Bates  —  Ike's  Amendments  —  Adjournment  of  the  Meeting,  and 
Hegira  of  the  Lecturer. 

I  THINK  I  told  you,  reader,  at  the  commencement  of  these 
sketches,  that  Puddleford  was  in  the  United  States  —  that  it 
was  a  part  of  this  great  republic  —  a  'brick  in  the  temple 
of  freedom.'  Puddleford  was,  of  course,  brimful  of  pa 
triotism.  She  was  very  jealous  of  her  rights,  too.  Squire 
Longbow  used  to  say  —  'that  part  of  the  United  States 
Capitol-building,  of  the  great  docks,  men-of-war,  gov'ment 
lands,  and  a  great  many  more  things  belonged  to  Puddle- 
ford,  and  we  'd  got  to  take  care  on-em '  —  that  '  there 
warn't  no  use  in  letting  things  go  hilter-skilter,  and  if  Pud 
dleford  made  her  voice  heard,  they  would  n't.'  Public 
meetings  were  often  held  for  the  good  of  the  Union  —  reso 
lutions  adopted  both  of  praise  and  of  condemnation  —  and 
when  our  country  was  in  jeopardy,  Longbow  and  Turtle 
gave  a  set-speech,  that  made  it  '  all  shake  again' ! 

Reader,  you  have  attended  an  '  abolition  meeting '  —  but 
then  you  never  did  at  Puddleford.  We  used  to  have  meet 
ings  that  ivere  meetings.  What  if  we  were  a  mere  nook 
or  corner  of  the  world;  wlien  the  political  waters  were 


MR.  BILLET'S  MISSION.  175 

agitated  by  a  national  question,  the  surf  rolled  in  around  us 
as  '  tempest-tost,'  and  furiously,  as  any  where  else. 

We  had  an  '  abolition  meeting '  about  these  days.  It  was 
got  up  by  a  roving  character,  who  had  busied  himself  turn 
ing  men  and  things  topsy-turvy  for  a  twelve-month.  He 
came  into  Puddleforcl,  one  evening,  on  foot,  carrying  a  black 
bag  and  a  heavy  staff.  His  eye  was  wild,  his  hair  red,  his 
face  pock-marked.  He  stopped  at  Bulliphant's  tavern,  and 
placarded  his  mission  as  follows  : 

< MILLIONS  OF  NEGROES  IN  BONDAGE!' 
*  All   starving  for   bread !  —  bound   in   chains !    and  a- 

groaning  for  freedom ! 

'  The  late  Rev.  Mr.  Billet  will  lecture  at  the  Log-chapel, 

this  evening,  on  the  eternal  rights  of  man,  negro-slavery, 

kidnapping,  &c.,  and  will  answer  all  questions  that  may  be 

asked!' 

Now,  Turtle  and  Longbow  were  what  are  called  pro- 
slavery  men.  Bates  was  an  abolitionist.  Turtle,  who  hap 
pened  to  be  by,  read  the  notice,  and  said, '  he  'd  go  and  hear 
him,  as  it  was  the  first  time  he  'd  had  an  opportunity  of 
hearing  a  dead  man  speak.' 

Billet,  who  sat  near  and  heard  the  remark,  said  '  he  warn't 
dead  —  he  was  only  a  late  Rev.  —  not  a  late  Mr.  Billet' 

Turtle  asked  him  where  he  preached  ? 

Billet  said  he  '  us'd  to  lecter  the  Sunday-school  down  on 
the  TFar-bash.' 

There  was  a  great  stir  all  over  Puddleford,  as  soon  as  the 
notice  became  public.  Any  new  event  excited  the  Puddle- 
fordians,  but  Billet's  notice  created  unusual  commotion. 
Longbow  ran  up  and  down  the  street  several  times,  and 
used  some  very  large  words.  He  said  '  he  was  a  magistrate, 
and  kept  the  peace,  and  all  the  laws  of  the  country  must  be 


176  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

look'd  arter  by  him.  He  did  n't  know  whether  the  notice 
was  agin  the  constitution  or  not,  but  if  he  rally  tho't  it  was, 
he  M  blow  it  to  flinders.  There  warn't  nothin  in  the  staterts 
tor  it,  or  agin  it.  It  rather  run  in-ter  the  chapter  on  con 
spiracies  and  affrays,  but  the  row  hadn't  begun  yet.  And 
the  people  had  a  right  to  talk  —  that  had  been  decided  by 
Jefferson  and  Story.  He  would  say,  however,  that  every 
body  had  better  recollect  that  they  were  citizens  of  a  great 
republic,  and  he  hoped  they  would  n't  do  nothing  to  injure 
the  feelings  of  the  men  who  made  the  Declaration  of  In 
dependence.' 

Sile  Bates,  who  heard  the  Squire  through,  said  '  there 
warn't  no  danger  of  that  now,  he  guessed  —  the  rneetin"  had 
got  to  go  on.' 

The  Squire  replied  to  Bates  with  profound  dignity,  that 
he  '  must  n't  say  got-to  to  him  !  —  he  was  a  justice  !  —  duly 
elected  and  sworn  !  —  and  was  under  oath  every  minute  1  — 
and  he  would  commit  him  for  contempt,  in-s&m-ter,  or  sum- 
ril-y,  as  Story  has  it ! ' 

Bates  told  the  Squire,  in  a  triumphant  way,  that  '  he 
could  n't  do  it  —  he  did  n't  know  how  to  make  out  the 
wri tin's  —  the  meeting  must  go  on  —  and  he  might  go 
to !' 

The  Squire  said  '  he  would  order  Bates  to  be  arrested  — 
and  that  was  all  the  law  required  of  him — -if  the  people 
of  Puddleford  would  stand  by  and  see  the  laws  trampled 
in-ter  the  dirt,  he  couldn't  help  it  —  but  he'd  report 'em 
all  to  the  higher  Courts,  for  treason! ' . 

The  Squire,  filled  with  wrath  and  patriotism,  hurried  to 
his  office,  and  set  himself  about  a  state  of  preparation  for 
the  meeting.  He  called  in  Turtle  to  aid  him  in  his  troubles. 
Turtle,  who  was  really  the  pillar  of  Puddleford,  as  our  read 
ers  have  seen,  although  he  managed  things  in  his  own 


BATES    TAKES    THE    CHAIR.  177 

peculiar  way,  directed  the  Squire  to  '  take  all  the  stater  ts, 
and  pamphlets,  and  speeches  he  could  find  up  to  the  meet 
ing,  and  they  'd  give  'em  fits  'til  the  fur  flew ! ' 

The  Log-chapel  was  filled  at  the  time  appointed.  All 
Puddleford  was  there  —  and  many  had  attended  for  the  first 
time  an  '  abolition  meeting '  —  not  knowing  what  it  was,  in 
fact,  held  for  —  or  what  was  to  be  the  subject  discussed. 
Bates  took  the  chair,  and  placed  Mr.  Billet  at  his  right  hand, 
and  called  the  meeting  to  order.  Now,  in  truth,  Bates  was 
a  fanatic.  He  looked  at  every  thing  in  the  world  through 
negro-slavery  —  it  was  the  prism  that  colored  every  object 
beyond  it  —  he  had  torn  this  idea  from  every  other  truth 
with  which  it  is  connected,  and  he  rode  it  out  of  sight  and 
hearing  of  common  sense  and  common  reason.  He  belonged 
to  that  class  of  persons,  who  say  there  is  no'  such  thing 
as  ultraism,  because  a  truth  cannot  be  carried  too  far  —  for 
getting  the  relation  that  exists  between  different  truths. 
Bates  believed  the  negro-race  was  in  nature  superior  to  the 
white,  and  often  declared  that  the  fore-fathers  of  the  South 
ern  slaves  built  Memphis  and  Thebes,  and  he  warn't  certain 
that  Adam  himself  was  white.  It  was  impossible  to  begin 
a  conversation  with  him  that  did  n't  end  in  his  favorite  sub 
ject.  Jf  one  alluded  to  the  arrival  of  the  mail  in  his 
presence,  he  informed  us  that  we  paid  postage  for  the 
'bloody-slaveholders,'  as  he  called  the  whole  South.  Ho 
hated  cotton-goods,  molasses  and  brown  sugar,  because  it 
all  smelt  of  slavery  —  he  fairly  hated  the  map  of  the  South 
ern  States;  but  never  mind,  Bates  took  the  chair. 

'  Feller  citizens,'  said  Bates,  rising,  '  you  Ve  hearn  the 
notice,  and  know  what  we  're  come  for.  There  are  a  great 
many  color'd  gentlemen  down  South  —  some  call  'em  '  nig 
gers  '  —  but  they  are  just  as  much  gentlemen  as  you  or  I  — 
millions  on-'em  —  tied  up  in-ter  bondage,  too  grievous  to  be 
8* 


178  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

told  on,  and  we've  come  here  to  do  something  for  'em. 
Now/  continued  Bates,  swinging  his  right  arm  violently  over 
his  head,  and  stamping  his  foot,  'I  'm  for  just  bursting  their 
bonds  at  onst  —  not  an  hour  —  not  a  minute  more  of  these 
ere  chains  ! '  (Cheers.)  '  The  negro,'  said  Bates,  after  the 
cheering  lulled,  'is  the  most  anclentest  man  we  read  of. 
There  was  a  Mr.  Canible,  or  Hannibal,  or  Skip-io'  —  (Mr.  Bil 
let  rose,  and  said  it  was  Scipio)  —  *  a  Mr.  Skipio,  who  led 
the  armies  of  the  world,  and  he  was  as  black  as  the  ace  of 
spades.'  (Mr.  Turtle  here  rose  and  said  '•'that  warn't  so  — 
he  was  a  copper-color  —  most  likely  an  Indian  or  some 
other  kind  of  a  man.')  '  Black  as  the  ace  of  spades !  I 
repeat  it,'  continued  Bates  — '  and  then  there  was  a  Mr. 
Tolumus,  (Ptolemy,)  who  built  Thebes,  and  all  the  Thebans 
themselves,  negroes  every  soul  on  'em,  and  if  you  do  n't  be 
lieve  it,  just  go  to  museums  and  look  at  their  mummies 
and ' 

Mr.  Turtle  rose  again,  and  would  '  like  to  know  whether 
General  Washington  was  a  negro  or  a  white  man  ? ' 

Bates,  in  reply,  said  '  he  did  n't  want  to  be  disturbed,  but 
as  he,  the  Gin'ral,  was  a  Virginian,  he  rather  guess'd  it  was 
an  open  question.' 

Mr.  Turtle  informed  Mr.  Bates  that  '  he  was  a  jackass  !  — 
and  that  warn't  an  open  question.' 

Bates  looked  down  very  indignantly,  from  his  elevated  po 
sition,  and  informed  Turtle,  that  if  he  '  war  n't  a-sorter  Presi 
dent  of  this  'ere  meeting,  he  would  quietly  boot  him  out  of 
the  house.' 

At  this  point,  several  persons  in  the  audience  sprang  to 
their  feet;  and  among  them  I  noticed  the  '  Colonel,' Long 
bow,  Bulliphant,  Beagle,  and  Swipes.  Longbow  instantly 
fluttered  a  cotton  handkerchief  over  the  crowd,  to  attract  the 
attention  of  those  persons  who  might  riot  be  aware  of  his 


THE    SQUIRE    'GOES    IN'    FOR   FREE    DISCUSSION.        179 

august  presence,  and,  after  fixing  the  eyes  and  ears  of  all,  said 
in  ;i  heavy,  sepulchral  tone  :  '  In  the  name  of  the  People 

of  i.he  State  of . ,  and  by  virtue  of  the  Constitution  of 

the  United  States,  this  'ere  thing  can't  go  on  no  longer  • 
all  this  meet-in'  has  gone  along  t  o'ther  eend  up,  ever  since  it 
open'd.  The  contract  was  that  Billet  should  speak,  — '  (Here 
the  Squire  blew  his  nose  with  the  said  cotton  handkerchief, 
and  drew  out  one  of  Billet's  notices,  calling  the  meeting,  and 
shook  it  fiercely  at  Billet,)  '  and  la'  is  la'  —  and  contracts  is 
contracts,  and  frauds  is  frauds,  and  the  patience  of  this  au 
dience  is  nearly  giu  out.'  The  Squire  said,  '  he  did  n't  come 
to  hear  Bates  speak  —  he'd  rather  stay  at  home,  and  hear 
the  whip-par- wills  sing,  than  fool  away  his  time  with  Bates, 
on  Boblition.  Mr.  Billet  had  the  right-er  freedom  of  speech 
—  and  after  exaininin'  the  'thorities  on  that  pint,  he  rathei 
tho't  he  had  a  right  to  go  ahead,  but  he  must  n't  trample 
on-ter  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  —  nor  use  hash  language 
agin  the  laws,  for  them  he  had  sworn  to  protect  —  and  he 
meant  to  do  it  —fodder  or  no  fodder.' 

The  Squire  sntdown  and  puffed  heavily.  The  'Colonel' 
instantly  -sprang  upon  his  feet  and  proposed  three  cheers  for 
Longbow,  who  had  so  clearly  'defined  things,' — and  the 
three  cheers  were  accordingly  given.  The  Colonel  made  his 
motion  ironically,  but  the  audience  received  it  in  good 
faith. 

An  hour  was  thus  passed,  and  the  meeting  was  not  yet 
organized;  in  fact,  its  preliminaries  were  not  yet  settled. 
Bates  was  temporarily  self-constituted  President,  and  Billet 
sat  by  his  side,  waiting  for  its  formal  organization,  and  had 
so  sat  during  all  this  time. 

Sile  Bates  now  stepped  up  to  the  side  of  the  desk,  and, 
peering  around  among  his  friends,  through  the  shadows  cast 
by  the  four  tallow  candles  that  glimmered  by  his  side—  '  re.- 


180  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLED 

ally  hop'd  some  gentleman  would  move  the  appointment  of 
a  reg'lar  President'  —  but  there  was  no  motion  made ;  *  P'raps 
the  Colonel  will  do  it,'  continued  Sile,  fixing  his  eye  upon 
him,  in  the  north-east  corner  of  the  house. 

'  Can't  do  it,  no  how,'  answered  the  Colonel  — '  I  go  for 
Longbow  and  the  Constitution  —  don't  know  but  it  would 
be  treason  to  make  such  a  motion  —  the  country  has  used 
me  hard,  but  I  go  for  it  right  or  wrong.' 

Longbow  jumped  up,  and,  turning  round  to  the  Colonel, 
remarked,  'that  such  a  motion  loarrit  treason  —  and,  for 
fear  he  might  be  charg'd  with  standing  in  the  way  of  free 
speech,  he'd  make  it  himself,'  and  so  he  did,  and  Sile  was 
elected  President. 

Mr.  Billet  was  introduced  by  Bates  to  the  audience,  as  a 
man,  among  other  things,  '  who  war  n't  afear'd  of  nothing, 
and  made  wickedness  shake  in  high  places.' 

I  suppose  I  ought  to  give  my  readers  a  description  of  Bil 
let  —  not  for  his  own  sake,  but  because  he  is  one  of  a  class  of 
men,  whose  history  ought  to  be  written  for  the  benefit  of 
mankind  in  general.  Billet  was  born  of  '  respectable  parents, 
and  lounged  about  —  he  never  worked  —  his  father's  farm, 
until  he  had  arrived  at  about  eighteen  years  of  age  —  he  then 
taught  school. —  then  travelled  the  country  lecturing  as  a 
phrenologist — then  lectured  against  phrenology — then 
'  turned  '  root  doctor  —  then  commenced  preaching  on  his 
'  own  hook,'  overturning  all  theological  notions  but  his  own, 
and  his  own  theology  was  made  up  of  matters  and  things  in 
general — he  then  became  an  infidel  —  then  changed  back 
again,  and  preached  more  furiously  than  ever'.  He  had  been 
a  whig,  a  democrat,  and  was  now,  and  for  the  last  five  years 
had  been,  an  abolitionist  —  and  this  last  calling  had  taken 
such  violent  hold  of  him,  that  it  seemed  to  have  swallowed  up 
his  \yhole  previous  history.  He  was  ignorant,  confident,  tur- 


ME.  BILLET'S  LECTURE.  -        181 

bulent,  and  like  a  certain  other  gentleman  we  read  of,  in  the 
book  of  Job,  he  was  always  happy  in  a  storm. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  report  Mr.  Billet's  speech,  verbatim ; 
I  must  take  his  strong  points  from  recollection. 

He  opened  his  subject  by  informing  his  hearers,  that  *  he 
was  what  was  called  an  American  citizen,  but  he  was  goin' 
to  talk  the  truth  straight  out,  America  or  no  America.  He 
wanted  every  man  to  gin  his  attention,  and  not  to  holler,  un 
less  the  truth  made  him  holler,  as  he  prayed  it  might.'  (Ike 
Turtle  here  gave  a  loud  Amen !  )  He  then  said  '  that  folks 
talked  about  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  — but,  my 
hearers,'  exclaimed  Billet,  *  there  ain't  no  such  thing  —  that 
instrument  ain't  worth  any  more  than  blank  paper,  because 
it  enslaves  negroes,  and  keeps  them  a-sweatin',  and  a-groan- 
in',  and  a-dyin',  a-dowp  among  the  swamps  of  Mississippi ! ' 
Mr.  Billet  said  'he  spos'd  there  were  some  four  to  eight 
millions  of  these  'ere  creturs  dying  in  this  sort  o-way.  He 
would  go  into  the  history  of  negro  slavery,  and,  throwing  the 
Constitution  aside,  and  taking  the  Bible,  and  the  everlastin' 
rights  of  man,  would  show  how  matters  had  got  into  sicli  a 
horrible  fix.  The  first  negro  was  one  Mr.  Ham,  the  son  of 
a  Mr.  Noah,  who  built  the  ark,  and  went  out  at  the  time  of 
the  flood  —  you'll  find  his  life  in  Gin-sis.  Mr.  Noah  had 
three  sons,  two  white,  and  one  black.  Mr.  Ham  war  n't  a 
fav'rite  of  his  father,  and  he  turn'd  him  adrift,  somewhere  on 
'rat.  He  went  down  in  Africa,  and  settled  all  by  himself,  and 
his  two  brothers  went  away  by  /Aemselves.  There  he  built 
great  cities,  and  got-ter-be  a  king  —  and  died.  Now,  my 
hearers,  would  you  believe  it,  the  very  first  thing  we  did,  arter 
settlin'  this  -country,  was  to  go  over  and  steal  Ham's  children, 
•and  work  ?em  to  death,  and ' 

(Mr.  Turtle  here  rose  and  said  he  'd  never  stole  any  on  'em.) 


182  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

'Now  what 's  to  be  done,  is  the  next  question  for  to  night, 
continued  Billet,  disregarding  Ike's  parenthesis. 

Mr.  Turtle  said  he'd  '  make  a  proposition.' 

Mr.  Billet  hoped  'he  would  not  be  disturbed.' 

Mr.  Turtle  thought '  he  could  settle  the  whole  question  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  meetin',  and  save  further  argument.' 

Mr.  Billet  said  *  he1  d  come  to  lecter.' 

Mr.  Turtle  '  thought  we  had  better  buy  up  the  whole  slave 
population,  and  send  'em  back  agin,  and  he'«l  a  subscription 
paper  ready  to  do  it,'  and  Turtle  pulled  out  a  very  long  paper 
and  held  it  up  to  Billet. 

Mr.  Billet  '  would  n't  buy  the  freedom  of  human  beings 
—  they'd  a  right  to  their  liberty,  any-how.' 

Mr.  Turtle  then  'hoped  our  forefathers,  or  their  children, 
would  fork  back  the  money  they  got,  when  they  sold  out  their 
blacks  to  the  South,  arter  the  revolution.' 

Mr.  Billet  said  '  that  was  a  great  while  ago  —  't'was  oiit- 
law'd.' 

Mr.  Turtle  thought '  there  would  be  the  more  interest  due 
on  V 

Mr.  Billet  requested  Squire  Longbow 'to  command  the 
peace.' 

The  Squire  said  it  was  '  onconstitutional  to  put  down  free 
discussion.' 

Mr.  Turtle  said  he  would  withdraw  for  the  present  —  so 
Mr.  Billet  proceeded.  But  he  was  undor  excitement.  The 
flurry  which  had  taken  place,  broke  the  thread  of  his  dis 
course,  which  was  running  on  so  tranquilly,  and  Billet,  en 
raged,  broke  out  into  a  storm.  He  'believed  the  government 
was  a  farce,  got  up  by  a  gang  of  speculators,  in  1776  ! — that 
it  wa  n't  good-for-nothing,  and  did  n't  bind  nobody  !  — 
Vwant  made  for  nothing  but  jest  to  keep  the  negroes  un 
der  !  —  That  it  was  a  great  insfcrment  of  fraud  !  —  that  for 


GREAT   EXCITEMENT.  183 

his  part  he  tore  every  paper  that  run  agin  the  unaZ-in-er-able 
and  divine  rights  of  man,  into  nonentity,  and  scattered  it  to 
the  four  winds  —  that  all  the  glory  of  the  United  States  did  n't 
pay  for  'slaving  one  black  man,  and  for  his  part,  he  was 
ready  now  to  —  to  —  to  — '  (Here  Billet  stamped  his  foot,  and 
looked  wild,  and  paused.) 

4  Well,'  exclaimed  Turtle,  springing  to  his  feet,  and 
shaking  his  forefinger  deliberately  at  Billet,  as  he  hung  sus 
pended  in  the  midst  of  his  sentence  —  '  what  in  cre-a-ted 
airth  would  you  do  ! ' 

Down  plunged  Billet.     '  You  are  a  blackguard  ! '  he  ex 
claimed, -turning  to  Ike,  and  striking  the  desk  with  his  fist. 
'That's  a  matter  of  opinion,'  answered  Ike. 
'  You  're  another,'  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  directing  his  re 
mark  to  Billet. 

*  You  are  a  tory,  sir ! '  ejaculated  Longbow  ;  '  you  are  a 
tory,  sir  ! '  Longbow  was  in  a  passion  —  his  face  was  flushed 
and  his  whole  frame  trembled.  '  I  say  you  are  a  tory,  Mr. 
Billet.  You're  out  side-er  the  pale  of  law,  the  staterts,  and 
the  constitution.  You  Ve  laid  yourself  open  to  be  hung,  or 
gibbeted,  and  most  any  other  kind-er  ignominious  death. 
Better  men  than  you,  sir,  died  long  ago,  on  the  scaffold, 
a-warnin'  to  mankind.  I  am  justis  here,  and  have  been  for 
ten  years,  and  my  oath  of  office  is  on  file  in  the  upper  courts. 
I  am  a  peace-o/-ficer,  sir.  Mr.  Turtle  will  read  the  staterts, 
sir;  the  declaration  of  independence,  sir;  the  constitution, 
sir,  to  you,  arter  which,  no  obstrep'rous  words  will  be  per 
mitted,  under  penalty,  sir,  of  going  out  of  that  are  winder, 
in  that  are  corner,  sir  ;  under  the  chapter  on  nuisances,  rows, 
and  mobs,  sir,  and  the  hull  common  law,  sir.'  Squire  Long 
bow  sat  down,  punting,  and  large  drops  of  sweat  rolled  from 
his  face. 

Mr.  Turtle  arose,  and  informed  the  audience,  with  much 


184          PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

gravity — but  liis  gravity  looked  very  quizzical  to  me — that 
things  now  were  getting  more  solemn-like.  That  he  had 
been  commanded  by  Squire  Longbow,  who  was  a  peace 
officer  of  Puddleford,  to  perform  a  duty,  and  he  'd  got-ter  do 
it.  He  would  now  say  to  Mr.  Billet,  (here  Ike  opened  the 
Revised  Laws,  and  laid  them  deliberately  in  his  left  hand.) 
He  would  say  to  Mr.  Billet,  that  any  thing  was  a  nuisance 
that  was  in  any  body  else's  way,  or  in  the  government's  way ; 
that  the  tories  of  '76  were  nuisances,  and  were  cons'kently 
pitch'd  out  of  the  way.  Any  thing  in  the  way  —  even 
words  —  of  the  declaration,  or  constitution,  was  a  nuisance. 
This  kinder  law,'  continued  Ike,  '  you  '11  find  all  along  in  this 
ere  book,  from  I  to  Izzard.  (Here  Ike  held  up  the  Revised 
Laws,  over  his  head,  for  a  minute  or  more.)  'And  then,' 
continued  Ike,  *  this  book  is  dead  agin'  all  kind-er  rows  and 
mobs.  Any  body  who  gets  up  a  row  in  our  country,  (here 
Ike  looked  hard  at  Billet,)  catches  particular  fits.  A  man 
can 't  come  here  and  excite  folks,  by  using  big  words  agin 
our  laws  —  that's  right  inter  the  face  of  the  statert ;  and 
altho'  he  was  talkin'  as  a  lawyer,  and  not  as  a  Puddlefordian, 
yet  he  would  say  that  if  Mr.  Billet  used  any  more  language 
about  our  forefathers,  who  were  dead  and  gone,  and  could  n't 
do  nothin'  for  themselves,  he  'd  smell  fire  and  brimstone  — 
that  was  all ! ' 

Here  was  a  long  pause.  Suddenly,  in  the  profound  still 
ness,  Bates  broke  out  with  '  Hail  Columbia  ! '  and  sang  the 
first  verse  to  its  close.  He  then  rose,  with  a  kind  of  mock 
gravity  on  his  face,  and  inquired  of  Squire  Longbow,  if  he 
would  please  to  inform  him  whether  that  'ere  tune  was  agin' 
the  laws.' 

The  Squire  was  silent. 

Bates  said  'if  it  war  n't  he  would  offer  a  set  of  resolu 
tions.'  Bates  read : 


TURTLE'S  'AMENDMENT.'  .     185 

'Resolved,  That  every  man,  white,  black,  or  indifferent, 
ought  to  have  his  liberty. 

'Resolved,  That  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  in  Puddle- 
ford,  do  say,  as  their  solemn  opinion,  that  this  ere  country 
airi  't  worth  living  in,  jest  so  long  a»  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
negro  slavery ;  and  that  we  '11  either  free-em,  break  up  the 
Union,  or  clear  out  ourselves. 

'Resolved,  That  we  won 't  use  any  thing  made  by  slave 
labor,  if  we  know  it,  thereby  making  the  slaveholder 
feel  our  power  —  cause  it  goes  right  to  their  pockets.' 

Mr.  Bates  said  he  had  drawn  up  the  resolutions  in  great 
haste,  and  they  were  short. 

Mr.  Turtle  hop'd  the  President '  would  hold  easy,  'till  he 
got  up  a  substitute.'  Turtle  sat  down,  and  wrote  off  the 
following;  and  moved  to  insert  them  all  after  the  word 
'  Resolved ' : 

'That  we  don't  like  negro-slavery  any  better  than  Sile 
Bates,  or  any  other  Sile. 

'Resolved,  That  we've  got  negro-slavery,  and  can't  help 
it  —  that  there  ain  't  any  body  livin'  now-days  who  brought 
the  negroes  here  —  and  that  if  there  was,  we  'd  be  in  favor 
of  their  buying  'em  up,  and  takin'  'em  back  again  —  that 
we  Ve  got  to  weather  it  the  best  way  we  can  —  that  hollerin', 
sweatin',  and  blowin'  about  them,  'way  up  here,  don-'t  do  any 
good  —  that  we  can't  see  how  the  negroes  are  going  to  get 
free  by  '  breaking  up  the  Union,'  cause  that  '11  just  leave  'em 
where  they  are,  and  nobody  up  here  to  look  arter  'em  — 
and  as  for  clearing  out  ourselves,  we  could  'nt  think  of  that, 
not  no-how  —  there  ain 't  no  place  to  go  to. 

'Resolved,  That  if  Puddleford  should  stop  using  'any 
thing  made  by  slave-labor,'  the  consequences  can't  be 
cal'c'lated. 

'Resolved  That  slavery  is  a  kind  of   bile  on  the  body 


186  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

politic,  and  there  ain  't  no  use  kicking  it,  swearing  at  it, 
running  away  from  it,  or  trying  to  scatter  it ;  but  jest  the 
best  way  is  to  take  time,  and  cure  it  up.' 

After  reading  his  substitute,  Ike  again  moved  to  insert  the 
same  after  the  word  'Resolved]  in  the  original  resolutions. 

Mr.  Bates  said  '  he  was  President,  and  that  thing  could  n't 
be  did  in  this  ere  meeting.' 

Mr.  Turtle  rather  thought '  it  could.' 

Mr.  Longbow  said  '  the  motion  had  got-ter-be  put,  for 
every  body  had  a  right  to  vote  on-to  any  thing  they  was  a 
min-ter.' 

Mr.  Bates  '  would  like  to  see  the  meetin'  make  him  put 
the  motion.' 

Mr.  Turtle,  who  sat  near  the  desk,  turned  his  back  upon 
Bates  and  Billet;  and  looking  over  his  shoulder,  comically, 
at  the  former,  told  him  —  *  that  for  the  present,  he  might  go  to 
grass,  where  Nebuchud-wez-zer  went  once,  and  he  hop'd  he  'd 
have  a  good  time  on  't '  —  and  then  holding  up  his  substi 
tute  to  the  audience,  cried  out,  *  shall  these  ere  pass  ? '  There 
was  a  shout  of  Aye  !  Aye !  Aye  ! 

'Then,'  continued  Ike,  'this  ere  meetin'  is  adjourned.' 

Mr.  Bates  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  proposed  '  a  collection 
for  Mr.  Billet.' 

Beetle  too  late,'  answered  Ike,  '  the  meetin 's  all  bust  up 
now,  and  bodies  that  ain 't  organized,  can  't  legally  act ; '  and 
here,  reader,  ended  Puddleford's  last  effort  in  behalf  of 
Slavery. 

At  about  six  o'clock  next  morning,  I  saw  the  flaring  coat- 
tail  and  carpet-bag  of  Billet  suddenly  turn  a  corner,  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Puddleford,  on  their  hurried  way 
to  parts  unknown. 


JOHN    SMITH.  187 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Some  Account  of  John  Smith  —  Nick-iSTamcs  —  Progress  of  the  Age  — 
The  Colonel's  Opinion  of  Science  —  John  Smith's  Dream  —  Ike 
Turtle's  Dream  —  Ike  takes  the  Boots. 

PIONEERS  —  men  who  grow  up  in  the  woods — are  fa 
mous  for  luxuriant  imaginations.  Every  thing,  with  them, 
is  on  a  sweeping  scale  with  the  natural  objects  amid  which 
they  dwell.  The  rivers,  and  lakes,  and  plains,  are  great,  and 
seem  to  run  riot  —  so  men  sometimes  run  riot,  too,  in 
thought,  and  word,  and  deed.  They  deal  largely  in  the 
extravagant,  and  do  extravagant  things,  in  an  extravagant 
way. 

I  have  seen  a  rusty  pioneer,  when  giving  his  opinion  upon 
some  trite  matter,  garnish  his  language  with  imagery  and 
figures,  and  clothe  himself  with  an  action,  that  Demos 
thenes  would  have  copied,  if  he  had  met  with  such  in  his 
day.  Gestures  all  graceful,  eye  all  fire,  language  rough,  but 
strong,  and  an  enthusiasm  that  was  magnetic  —  a  kind  of 
unpremeditated  natural  eloquence,  that  many  an  one  has 
sought  for,  but  never  found. 

John  Smith  was  an  ingenious  Puddlefordian,  in  the  way 
of  storv-telling.  He  was  almost  equal  to  Ike  Turtle.  John 
was  a  greal,  stalwart,  double-breasted  fellow,  who  cared  for 
nothing,  not  even  himself.  A  compound  made  tip  of  dare 
devil  ferocity,  benevolence  and  impudence.  His  feelings, 
whether  of  the  higher  or  lower  order,  always  ran  to  excess 


188  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

He  was  an  importation  from  Massachusetts,  of  fair  educa 
tion,  and  from  his  recklessness  of  life,  had  drifted  into  Pud- 
dleford,  like  many  other  tempest-tossed  vessels,  stripped  of 
spars  and  rigging.  Smith's  fancy  and  imagination  were 
always  at  work.  He  had  nick-named  two  thirds  of  Puddle- 
ford,  and  there  was  something  characteristic  in  the  appella 
tions  bestowed.  One  small-eyed  man,  he  "called  '  Pink-Eye  ; ' 
another,  a  bustling  fellow,  who  made  a  very  great  noise,  on 
a  very  small  capital,  was  known  as  'Bumble-bee;'  another, 
a  long-shanked,  loose-jointed  character,  was  '  Giraffe ; '  Squire 
Longbow,  he  christened  'Old  Night-Shade.'  Turtle  was 
known  as  '  Sky  -Rocket ;'  Bates  as  'Little  Coke;'  the 
'  Colonel '  as  '  Puff  Ball.'  Indeed,  not  one  man  in  twenty 
was  recognized  by  his  true  name,  so  completely  had  Smith 
invested  the  people  with  titles  of  his  own  manufacture. 

I  recollect  one  of  Smith's  nights  of  imagination  — one 
among  many  — for  I  can  not  write  out  all  his  mental  pro 
ductions. 

The  Puddlefordians  were  met,  as  usual,  at  Bulliphant's. 
That  was  the  place,  we  have  seen,  where  all  public  opinion 
was  created.  Turtle,  and  Longbow,  and  Bates,  and  the 
whole  roll,  even  down  to  Jim  Buzzard,  were  present.  The 
progress  of  the  age  was  the  subject. 

Turtle  thought '  there  was  no  cac'latin'  what  things  would 
come  to  —  steam  and  ingin-rubber  were  runnin'  one  etarnal 
race,  and  he  guess'cl  they  'd  lay  all  opposition  to  the  land, 
and  bring  on  the  millennium.' 

Bates  said  'the  sciences  were  doing  sun- thin',  but  they  'd 
never  make  any  body  better  —  human  natur'  was  so  shockin' 
wicked,  that  it  would  require  a  heap  mor  'n  injin-rubber  to 
rcjuvify  'em.' 

Mr.  Longbow  requested  Bates  '  to  repeat  that  'ere  last 

word  agin.' 


THE    COLONEL    ON    SCIENCE.  189 

Bates  said  '  it  was  '  rejuvify '  —  that  is,  '  drag-out,'  '  resur 
rect.'  ' 

The  Squire  thanked  Bates  for  his  explanation. 

The  '  Colonel'  said  there  was  such  a  thing  as  too  much 
science.  lie  professed  to  have  lived  a  scientific  life  —  that 
is,  without  work  —  but  all  the  while,  he  found  some  one  a 
little  more  scientific,  and  he  had  never  heen  able  to  hold  his 
own  any  where.  He  had  been  stranded  fourteen  times  in 
his  life,  owing  to  a  press  of  science  brought  against  him  — 
but  the  most  destructive  science  in  the  known  world,  was 
that  for  the  collection  of  debts.  It  deprived  men  of  their 
liberty,  their  comforts,  their  property,  their  friends ;  and  the 
manner  in  which  this  was  all  done,  was  barbarous.  He  de 
fied  any  man  to  produce  as  cool-blooded  a  thing  as  an  execu 
tion  at  law,  which  was  a  branch  of  legal  science.' 

Squire  Longbow  said  —  'a  fiery  facius,  (fieri facias)  was 
one  of  the  most  ancientest  writs,  which  he  issued,  and  there 
war  n't  nothin'  cool-blooded  or  ramptious  about  it.' 

Mr.  Smith  sat  silently  up  to  this  point  in  the  debate. 
'  Boys,'  said  he,  at  last,  'the  world  is  goin' ahead.  Talking 
of  science,  let  me  tell  you  a  dream  I  had  last  night,'  But 
if  the  reader  will  permit  me,  I  will  give  the  substance  of 
Smith's  dream  in  my  own  language.  It  may  detract  from 
its  point,  but  it  will  be  more  connected  and  intelligible. 

*  I  dreamed,  boys,'  said  Smith,  'that  I  was  in  the  great 
Patent-Office,  at  Washington.  I  looked,  and  its  ceiling  was 
raised  to  an  enormous  height,  while  through  open  doors 
and  passages,  I  saw  room  after  room,  groaning  with  thou 
sands  of  models,  until  it  appeared  as  though  I  was  in  a 
wilderness  of  machinery.  Very  soon  a  pert  little  gentleman, 
with  a  quick  black  eye,  and  a  '  pussy  '  body,  arrayed  in  the 
queerest  costume  I  ever  saw,  came  bustling  up  to  mo,  and 
asked  me  for  my  ticket,  I  involuntarily  thrust  my  hmul  into 


190  PUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

the  depth  of  my  breeches-pocket,  and  pulling  out  a  card,  deliv 
ered  it  to  him.  After  looking  at  the  card,  and  then  at  me, 
and  then  at  the  card  again,  he  burst  out  into  a  loud  guffaw, 
that  made  the  old  Patent-Office  ring.  'Why,  Sir,'  said  he, 
'  thin  is  no  ticket.  It  is  the  business  card  of  one  John  Smith, 
advertising  a  patent  dog-churn,  of  which  he  here  says  he  is 
the  real  inventor,  and  it  bears  date  in  the  year  1840 — two 
hundred  years  ago  !  The  churn  may  be  found  in  room 
marked  'Inventions  of  Year  1840,'  but  the  man  John  Smith 
we  have  n't  got.  I  do  n't  much  think  he  is  around  above 
ground,  just  at  this  time,'  said  the  little  man,  chuckling. 
4  But,'  said  I,  '  who  are  you,  if  I  am  not  John  Smith  ?  Were 
you  not  appointed  by  Polk,  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  and 
did  I  not  put  a  word  in  his  ear  favorable  to  you? '  '  Polk  I 
a  Secretary  of  the  Interior  ! '  — exclaimed  he ;  '  I  appointed 
by  Polk !  Why,  my  dear  Sir,  I  was  appointed  only  two 
years  ago  —  not  two  hundred  ! '  — '  Chief  of  the  Great 
Central  Department,'  as  the  office  is  now  called.' 

'  While  we  were  talking,  Franklin,  Adams,  Jefferson,  "and 
Fulton  walked  in  and  took  seats.  I  knew  Uncle  Ben  the 
moment  I  cast  my  eyes  upon  him.  He  was  dressed  in  good 
old  '76  style ;  —  shoe-buckles,  short.breeches,  queue,  and  all; 
and  that  same  jolly -round  face  and  double •  chin  ;  that  tran 
quil  countenance  just  touched,  without  being  destroyed,  by 
comedy  —  were  all  there.  Adams  and  Jefferson  I  had  be 
fore  seen,  and  they  were  a  little  'more  modern  in  dress,  but 
they  both  looked  care-worn.  Fulton  sat  apart,  and  eyed  the 
other  three  as  though  he  had  seen  them  somewhere,  but  yet 
could  not  call  them  by  name. 

'  The  rather  unexpected  arrival  of  these  gentlemen  broke 
up  the  comments  of  my  bustling  interrogator,  and  one  of 
those  pauses  occurred  which  frequently  do,  upon  the  appear 
ance  of  strangers.  Uncle  Ben  asked  Jefferson  if  he  would 


JOHN  SMITH'S  DREAM.  191 

*  not  like  to  move  up  to  the  fire  and  warm  his  feet  ? '  '  Fire  ! ' 
said  I,  'fire?  Why,  Uncle  Ben,  there  is  no  fire-place  now- 
a-days.  Stoves  and  hot-*air  furnaces  are  all  the  go.  This 
building  is  warmed  by  a  great  furnace,  and  two  miles  of  pipe 
that  conducts  the  heat  to  every  room  in  it.'  '  Not  by  a  long 
way  ! '  said  my  bustling  friend  —  *  not  by  a  long  way,  Mr. 
John  Smith.  This  trumpery  is  all  piled  away  among  the 
inventions  of  the  years  that  were.  These  things  belong  to 
the  age  of  your  dog-churn.  Why,  gentlemen,'  continued 
he,  '  have  you  never  heard  of  the  Great  Southern  Hot- Air 
Company,  chartered  in  1960,  whose  business  it  is  to  furnish 
warm  air  from  the  South  to  persons  at  the  North ;  price  to 
families  three  dollars  a  year  ;  all  done  by  a  gigantic  under 
ground  tunnel,  and  branches,  worked  at  the  other  end  by  an 
air-pump !  Have  you  never  heard  of  this,  gentlemen  ? 
Here  we  get  the  natural  heat  of  the  South,  warmed  by  the 
sun  ;  none  of  your  stinking  coal  and  wood  gases  to  corrupt 
and  destroy  it.  And  then  the  principle  of  reciprocity  is 
kept  up  ;  for  we  send  back  our  cold  air  in  the  same  way; 
and  so  we  keep  up  an  equilibrium,  for  the  South  are  just  as 
strenuous  as  ever  to  keep  up  the  equilibrium  of  the  Union, 
Why,  gentlemen,,  those  stoves  required  constant  care.  As 
often  as  every  week  it  was  necessary  to  replenish  them  with 
wood  or  coal.  No !  no  !  —  those  improvements  belonged  to 
the  dark  ages.' 

'  '  Bless  me  ! '  exclaimed  Uncle  Ben.  '  Impossible  ! '  repeat 
ed  Fulton.  *  And  so  you  do  n't  use  the  old  '  Franklin '  stove 
any  more  ? '  said  Uncle  Ben.  '  Perhaps,'  he  continued,  a 
quiet  smile  playing  over  his  face,  as  if  he  intended  a  comical 
shot,  '  perhaps  you  do  n't  use-  lightning  now-a-days  either, 
and  my  lightning-rods  of  course  belong  to  the  dark  ages 
too!' 

4 '  We  have  the  lightning,  and  use  it  too,  but  only  one  rod, 
built  by  the  State,  near  its  centre,  which  is  so 'colossal  and 


192  PUDDLEFORD    AXl)    ITS    PEOPLE. 

powerful  that  it  protects  every  thing  around  it.'  An  1  then 
the  little  fellow  rattled  on  about  the  use  of  lightning ;  how 
it  wrote  all  over  the  world  the  English  language,  until  I 
verily  believe  that  Uncle  Ben,  Fulton,  and  all  set  him  down 
as  the  most  unscrupulous  liar  that  they  had  ever  met  with. 

* '  I  think,'  said  Uncle  Ben,  '  that  I  could  convince  myself 
of  the  truth  of  your  assertions,  if  I  could  go  to  Boston ;  but 
as  my  time  is  very  limited,  I  can  not.' 

'  Send  you  there  in  five  minutes  by  the  watch  ! '  answered 
the  little  man ;  '  or  if  that 's  too  soon,  in  twenty-four  hours. 
It  requires  powerful  lungs  to  go  by  balloon  —  time  five  min 
utes —  departure  every  half  hour.  The  magnetic  railway 
train  will  take  you  through  in  four  hours,  or  on  the  old 
fashioned  railroad  in  twenty -four.'  '  What ! '  said  Uncle 
Ben,  '  is  the  old  stage  company  entirely  broken  up  ? '  '  Do  n't 
know  what  you  mean  by  stages.'  said  the  little  man,  '  but  I 
will  look  for  the  word  in  the  big  dictionary.'  '  Go  by  steam 
boat,'  said  Fulton.  *  Steam-boat ! '  repeated  the  little  man 
—  '  steam-boat !  too  everlasting  slow  —  not  over  twenty-five 
miles  an  hour  —  well  enough  for  freight,  but  passengers  can 
not  endure  them ;  they  go  laboring  and  splashing  along  at 
a  snail's  pace,  and  they  are  enough  to  wear  out  any  man's 
patience.  Yet  the  steam-boat  was  the  greatest  stride  ever 
made  at  any  one  time  in  the  way  of  locomotion,  and  was 
very  creditable  to  Fulton,  and  the  age  in  which  he  lived.' 
*  That  is  admitting  something,'  burst  out  Fulton,  who  had 
sat  like  a  statue,  watching  the  little  man's  volubility.  '  But,' 
said  Uncle  Ben,  '  all  this  talk  do  n't  get  me  on  my  way  to 
Boston.  That  is  my  birth-place.  I  was  there  for  the  last 
time  in  1-763,  and  you  know  that  according  to  the  provi 
sions  of  my  will,  there  is  more  than  four  millions  pounds 
sterling  of  my  money,  which  has  by  this  time  been  disposed 
of  by  the  State  some  how.'  Uncle  Ben  was  always  a  shrewd 
fellow  in  the  way  of  dollars  and  cents,  and  I  could  see  he 


JOHN  SMITH'S  DREAM.  193 

was  very  anxious  abcut  that  money.  '  Olio !  oho ! '  said  the 
little  man  ;  '  so  you  are  Ben  Franklin,  and  you  are  the  old 
gentleman  who  left  that  legacy.  We  've  got  a  portrait  of 
you  up  stairs,  more  than  two  hundred  years  old,  and  it  docs 
look  like  you.  Glad  to  see  you  !  You  said  something  in 
your  life-time  about  immersing  yourself  in  a  cask  of  Madeira 
wine  with  a  few  friends,  and  coming  to  the  world  in  a  hun 
dred  years  again.  These  are  your  friends,  I  suppose  ? ' 
*  These  gentlemen,'  replied  Uncle  Ben,  *  are  John  Adams  and 
Thomas  Jefferson,  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence.'  *  The  other  gentleman,'  continued  I,  t  is  Robert  Ful 
ton,  whom  you  have  spoken  of.'  *  Well,  I  declare  ! '  ejacu 
lated  the  little  man,  '  this  is  a  meeting !  But  about  that 
legacy,  Uncle  Ben,  of  yours  ;  two  millions  sterling  of  it  has 
gone  to  build  the  Gutta  Percha  Magnetic  Telegraph  line, 
connecting  Boston  with  London  and  Paris,  two  of  the  largest 
cities  in  the  Eastern  Republic  of  Europe.'  *  Gutta  perch  a  ! 
magnetic  telegraph !  —  Republic  of  Europe ! '  —  repeated  all 
of  them.  'All  built  under  water,  and  sustained  by  buoys,' 
continued  the  little  man,  *  and  it  works  to  a  charm  —  plan 
up  stairs  in  room  204  —  and  can  be  seen  in  a  moment ;  and 
as  I  told  you  before,  it  writes  the  English  language  as  fast  as 
my  deputy.'  '  Republic  of  Europe  ! '  exclaimed  Jefferson, 
again.  '  Yes,  Sir,'  said  the  little  man,  *  for  more  than  a  cen 
tury.  No  more  thrones ;  no  more  rulers  by  divine  right ; 
no  more  governments  sustained  by  powder  and  ball ;  no  lords 
nor  nobles ;  man  is  man,  not  merely  one  of  a  class  of  men, 
but  individually  man,  with  rights  as  perfect  and  powers  as 
great  as  any  other  man.  The  principles,  Jefferson,  of  your 
Declaration,  which  you  did  not  create,  but  only  asserted, 
have  prostrated  every  arbitrary  government  on  the  globe. 
Even  the  Jews,  since  their  return  to  Jerusalem,  have  organ 
ized  a  republican  form  of  government,  and  have  just  elected 
9- 


194  PUDDLEFORD    AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

Mr.  Noah  President.'  '  Well,'  thinks  I  to  myself, '  that  can't 
be  Mordccai  M.  Noah,  any  how,  for  polities  must  have  used 
up  his  constitution  before  this.'  Bat  the  iittle  man  chat 
tered  away,  and  declared  that  Europe  was  divided  into  two 
republics,  the  Eastern  and  Western ;  that  Constantinople 
was  the  capital  of  the  Western  ;  that  Africa  and  Asia  were 
also  republican  ;  until  the  three  signers  of  the  Declaration, 
perfectly  wrought  up  to  a  frenzy  of  joy,  rose  up  from  their 
seats,  took  off  their  hats,  and  swinging  them  round,  gave 
4  Three  cheers  for '70,  and  the  old  Army  of  the  Revolution  V 

and  I  verily. believe  Uncle  Ben  forgot  all  about  that  money, 

and  about  going  to  Boston,  for  he  did  not  allude  to  it  any 
more  in  my  presence. 

'  Great  changes  these ! r  continued  the  little  man,  '  from 
your  days.  But  you  must  not  think,  gentlemen,  that  we 
have  forgotten  you  or  your  services,  while  we  have  improved 
in  wisdom  and  strength.  Look  here,  gentlemen,'  and  he 
motioned  us  away,  and  leading  on,  he  conducted  us  to  an 
observatory  on  the  top  of  the  building.  Such  a  prospect  I 
never  before  beheld.  Away,  around,  on  every  side,  stretched 
a  mighty  city,  whose  limits  the  eye  could  not  reach.  Tow 
ers,  temples,  spires,  and  masts  succeeded  towers,  temples, 
spires,  and  masts,  until  they  were  lost  in  the  distant  haze. 
Canals,  traversed  every  street,  and  boats  of  merchandise  were 
loading  and  unloading  their  freights.  Steam-carriages  were 
puffing  along  the  roads  that  ran  by  the  canal,  some  filled 
with  pleasure  parties,  and  some  laden  with  goods.  Turning 
my  eye  to  an  elevation,  I  saw  fifty-six  gigantic  monuments, 
whose  peaks  were  nearly  lost  in  the  sky,  ranged  in  a  line,  all 
alike  in  form  and  sculpture.  'These,'  said  the  little  man, 
'  were  erected  to  the  Signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence  ; '  and,  taking  out  his  telescope,  he  handed  it  to  Uncle 
Ben,  who  read  aloud  among  the  inscriptions  the  names, 


JOHN  SMITH'S  DREAM.  195 

X. 

FRANKLIN,  JEFFERSON,  ADAMS  !  '  But  let  us  know  what  this 
city  is  called  ? '  inquired  Jefferson.  *  This,  Sir,  is  called 
Columbiana ;  it  lies  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Mississippi ; 
population  five  millions,  according  to  the  last  census.'  '  But 
what  supports  it  ? '  '  Supports  it !  The  great  East  India 
trade.  That  vessel  down  there  is  direct  from  Canton,  by 
ship-canal  across  the  Isthmus.  All  Europe  is  secondary  to 
us  now.  No  doubling  capes,  as  was  done  in  your  day. 
Yonder  stands  the  Capitol ;  and  the  whole  North  American 
continent  is  annually  represented  there.  The  city  of  San 
Francisco  alone  sends  forty-four  members.  There,'  continued 
he,  pointing  his  finger,  'that  balloon  rising  slowly  in  the 
sky  has  just  started  for  that  place,  and  the  passengers  will 
take  their  dinner  there  to-morrow.' 

Jefferson  asked  the  little  man  '  whether  the  Federalists  or 
Democrats  were  in  power?'  —  and  I  saw  that  Adams  waked 
up  when  he  heard  the  question.  '  Don't  know  any  such 
division,'  replied  he.  '  The  great  measure  of  the  day,  upon 
which  parties  are  divided,  is  the  purchase  of  the  South  Ame 
rican  continent  at  five  hundred  millions  of  dollars.  I  go  for 
it;  and  before  another  year  the  bargain  will  be  consum 
mated.  We  must  have  more  territory  —  we  have  n't  got 
half  enough.  Extent  of  territory  gives  a  nation  dignity  and 
importance.  The  old  thirteen  States  of  your  day,  gentlemen, 
were  a  mere  cabbage-patch,  and  should  have  been  consolidated 
into  one  State.  Ten  or  twenty  days'  sail  ran  you  plump  into 
a  hostile  port,  and  then  you  had  a  demand  for  duty.  Beside, 
conflicting  interests  always  brew  up  difficulties,  and  then 
come  treaties,  and  finally  war,  and  then  debt,  and  at  last  op 
pressive  taxation.  A  nation  should  own  all  the  territory 
that  joins  it.  The  ocean  is  the  only  natural  boundary  for  a 
people.'  Thinks  I,  '  You  have  been  a  politician  in  your  day, 
and  I'll  just  engage  you  to  correspond  with  a  certain  New- 


196  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

.x 

York  editor,  who  shall  be  nameless  ;  you  strike  off  the  doc 
trine  boldly  ! ' 

'  Uncle  Ben  told  the  little  man,  after  he  closed,  that  a  nation 
might  *  get  so  very  ripe  as  to  become  a  little  rotten  ;  and  if 
he  had  no  objection  be  would  present  him  with  the  '  Sayings 
of  Poor  Richard.' '  And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he 
pushed  his  hand  into  his  breeches'  pocket,  and  pulled  out  an 
old  almanac,  printed  at  Philadelphia,  in  1732,  and  bowing, 
handed  it  to  him.  The  little  man  thanked  him,  and  pro 
mised  to  deposit  it  in  the  Museum,  as  a  curious  piece  of  anti 
quity. 

*  Getting  somewhat  anxious  for  a  smoke,  I  drew  forth  a 
cigar  and  *  loco-foco,'  rubbed  the  latter  across  my  boot,  which 
flashed  out  its  light  full  in  Uncle  Ben's  face.  *  That  is  nice,' 
exclaimed  he;/ rather  an  improvement  on  the  old  string, 
wheel  and  tinder  plan.'  *  Simple,  too,  is  n't  it  V  said  I ; 
'  and  yet  all  the  science  of  your  day  did  n't  detect  it.'  Just 
then  T  gave  a  puff,  which  made  Uncle  Ben  sneeze  ;  and  he 
broke  out  into  a  tirade  against  tobacco  that  would  read  well. 
But  I  told  him  there  was  no  use ;  men  had  smoked  and 
chewed  the  weed  —  would  smoke  and  chew  it,  economy  or 
no  economy,  health  or  no  health,  filth  or  no  filth  ;  and  that 
in  all  probability  the  last  remnant  of  the  great  American 
Republic,  for  succeeding  nations  to  gaze  at,  would  be  a  plug 
of  tobacco ;  for  I  sincerely  believed  that  tobacco  would  out 
live  the  government  itself. 

The  little  man  proposed  returning  into  the  Patent-Office, 
and  exhibiting  to  us  in  detail  the  models  of  art  there  depo 
sited.  But  I  can  not  weary  you  with  what  I  there  saw.  The 
fruits  of  every  year,  since  the  organization  of  the  department, 
were  divided  into  rooms,  and  indicated  on  the  door  by  an 
inscription.  There  were  thousands  of  improvements  in  every 
branch  of  science,  many  of  which  were  so  simple,  that  I 


JOHN  SMITH'S  DREAM.  197 

thought  myself  a  fool  that  I  did  not  discover  them  long  ago. 
Principles  were  applied,  the  very  operation  of  which  I  now 
recollected  to  have  often  seen,  yet  without  a  thought  of  their 
practical  utility.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  accident  was 
the  parent  of  more  that  I  saw  than  design  ;  '  for  how,'  rea 
soned  I,  '  is  it  possible  that  these  pieces  of  machinery  could 
otherwise  have  escaped  the  great  men  who  have  lived  and 
died  in  ignorance  of  them  ?' 

'  By  this  time  we  were  quite  fatigued,  and  Uncle  Ben  com 
plained  a  little  of  the  *  stone,'  which  he  said  he  was  subject 
to.  The  little  man  gave  him  some  *  Elixir  of  Life,'  as  he 
called  it,  being,  as  he  said,  *  an  extract  of  the  nutritious  por 
tion  of  meats  and  vegetables,  purged  from  their  grossness 
as  found  in  their- natural  state ;'  and  while  we  were  sipping 
it,  he  launched  forth  upon  its  great  benefit  to  mankind  ;  the 
money  saved  that  used  to  be  expended  in  cookery  and  trans 
portation —  millions  upon  millions;  the  great  economy  in 
time,  formerly  squandered  in  eating,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  he  wound 
up  his  eulogy  by  presenting  eacli  of  us  with  a  bottle,  which 
I  carefully  put  away  in  my  pocket. 

1  Adams  then  rose  up,  and  said  he  must  leave,  and  Jeffer 
son,  Uncle  Ben,  and  Fulton  followed.  And  in  a  moment 
Uncle  Ben,  Fulton,  Adams,  Jefferson,  the  little  man,  the 
apartments,  wheels,  and  machinery,  began  to  rock,  and  heave 
and  fade,  and  finally  dissolve  ;  and  suddenly  I  awoke  ! '  , 

1  Youdid  awake ! '  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  drawing  a  breath 
all  the  way  from  his  boots ;  '  I  should  have  thought  you 
would.' 

Bates  gave  a  yawn,  and  throwing  his  quid  into  the  fire, 
called  for  a  glass  of  whiskey  and  water,  saying  he  would  *  try 
to  choke  down  the  story  with  that.'' 

Longbow  sat  perfectly  magnetized  —  his  arms  folded 
across  his  breast,  his  chin  dropped,  his  legs  resting  on  his 


198  rUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

boot-lieels,  and  pushed  out  in  front  of  him,  as  though  he 
was  driving  a  hard-bitted  horse,  and  his  one  eye  stared  va 
cantly  at  the  coals  in  the  huge  fire-place.  He  gave  an  un 
conscious  grunt,  when  Smith  concluded,  but  made  no  com 
mentary. 

Turtle  said  *  the  dream  was  very  remarkable  for  such  a 
man  as  Smith ;  but  he  guessed  he  had  it,  and  he  was  going 
to  believe  it,  because  it  was  upon  the  word  of  a  Puddlefor- 
dian.  But  he'd  had  one  that  beat  it  all  holler  —  s 'prism* 
dream  —  like  them  are  visions  that  some  body  unriddled 
for  —  he  could  n't  recollect  the  name  of  the  man  now  —  no 
matter,  the  dream  's  the  same.7 

'  I  got  up  one  morning,'  said  Ike,  '  and  went  clown  to  my 
breakfast-table,  but  there  war  n't  one  of  my  family  present. 
I  saw  seated  around  it,  however,  a  strange  company  of  folks, 
and  dressed  as  no  mortals  ever  were  before,  since  the  flood, 
I  reckon.  There  war  n't  nothin'  that  ever  I  seed  before  on 
any  on  'em.  I  took  my  place  at  the  head  of  the  board,  and 
attempted  to  do  the  carvin' ;  but  there  war  n't  no  body  that 
understood  my  meanin'.  Pork  war  n't  pork  any  more ;  and 
when  I  tried  to  pass  pork,  I  found  that  it  had  a  kind-er  fancy 
name,  which  I  have  now  forgot. 

*  One  great,  goggle-eyed  fellow,  who  sat  at  my  right  hand, 
informed  a  lady  near  him  '  that  he  'd   got-ter  go  over  to 
Agoria  before  dinner,  and  get  his  sun-dial  fixed ;  but  his 
wings  were  down  at  the  shop  being  fixed,  and  he  could  n't 
start  this  hour  yet.' 

*  '  Agoria !     Where  's  that  ?'  asked  I. 

'  *  Do  n't  know  where  Agoria  is  —  ha !  ha  !  On  the  river 
Amazon,  a  trip  of  a  couple  of  thousand  of  miles.'  And  so 
he  took  out  a  little  eye-glass,  and  looked  at  me  for  a  long 
time,  and  putting  it  back  in  his  pocket,  said  '  he  thought  I 
was  a  North  Pole-ander,  or  a  ghost ;  he  did  n't  know  which.' 


IKE  TURTLE'S  DREAM.  199 

*  Dear  me !  you  will  be  keerful,  now  won't  you,'  said  the 
lady.     '  Two  hundred  collisions  in  the  air  last  night,  among 
the  winged  men  ;  almost  as  many  the  night  afore  —  awful !' 
1  The  goggle-eyed  man  said  he  would. 

*  '  Did  you  hear  President  Jones  lecter  last  night,'  said  a 
spectacled  critter,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  sticking  his 
fore-finger  out  at  me. 

' '  No  sir-ee  / '  I  hollered  back  to  him,  as  I  was  some  little 
frustrated  by  this  time. 

1 '  He  showed,'  said  the  man,  '  that  one  Tom  Jefferson 
prob'bly  did  write  the  Declaration  of  Independence  that  the 
ancients  made.' 

* '  You  do  n't  say  so,  though,  do  you  ?'  said  I.  *  You  're 
a  bright  set  of  chaps  the  whole  on  you,  President  Jones  and 
all.' 

'  There  was  a  mighty  deal  said  about  the  Persian  war 
with  America  ;  what  some  body  said  who  came  from  Africa 
last  night  —  what  this  man  and  that  man  done  in  Congress ; 
but  getting  out  of  patience  at  last,  I  jumped  up,  and  left  the 
whole  on  'em  ;  and  as  I  passed  out  of  the  room,  told  'em 
i  they  might  all  go  to  grass.' 

*  As  I  left  the  house,  I  saw  an  almanac  hanging  on  the 
wall  for  the  year  2564.     The  first  thought,  when  I  saw  this, 
was, '  Where,  in  the  name  of  Andrew  Jackson,  is  Puddleford 
now  ?1 

4  But  what  was  my  surprise,  when  I  got  inter  the  street, 
which  was  all  laid  with  slabs  of  granite,  and  lined  with  pa 
laces,  to  find  Squire  Longbow,  walking  along  with  his  wings 
folded  on  his  back,  looking  as  nat'ral  as  the  old  fogy  himself. 

' '  Squire,'  said  I,  '  here's  to  you.' 

'  The  Squire  said  '  he  had  n't  the  honor  of  my  'quain- 
tance.' 

' 4  Oh !  you  old  scoundrel,'  said  I, '  you  can't  come  that' 


200  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

*  That 's  false  ! '  exclaimed  Longbow,  '  I  did  n't  have  no 
such  talk.' 

'  It  was  only  a  dream  —  you  forget,1  answered  Ike. 

*  Exactly,'  replied  the  Squire,   relapsing  into  his  former 
mood. 

* '  You  can't  come  that,  old  man,'  I  repeated  ; '  I  could  tell 
you  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  in  the  night ;  what  are  you 
about,  old  feller  ?  You  look  fat  and  pussy.' 

'  The  Squire  said  '  he  was  Judge  of  the  Continental  Su 
preme  Court !' 

*  *  So  I  should  think,'  said  I ;  '  I  just  left  a  dozen  asses  at 
my  breakfast- table,    and  you  're  just  the  man  for  all  the 
world  to  be  their  judge.' 

'  That 's  a  contempt  1'  exclaimed  the  Squire,  jumping  from 
his  chair. 

'  Nothin'  but  a  dream,  and  they  allers  go  by  contraries,' 

answered  Ike. 

'  So  they  do,'  said  the  Squire  calmly,  sitting  down  again, 
' '  Where 's  Bates,  and  the  '  Colonel,'  and  Bulliphant,  and 
the  other  Puddlefordians  ?'  inquired  I. 

' '  Bates,'  said  the  Squire,  *  burst  a  blood-vessel  several 
hundred  years  ago,  running  down  a  Southern  kidnapper,  and 
died  quick-er  a  flash.  He  did  n't  leave  nothing  scasely  for 
his  family,  'cause  he  spent  all  his  time  on  public  affairs.  The 
Colonel  left  the  country  with  the  sheriff  at  his  heels ;  and  he 
rather  thought  he  was  somewhere  about  the  streets  now,  as 
he  saw  a  feller  t'  other  day  'fore  the  Court,  for  debt,. that 
looked  jest  like  him.  Bulliphant  went  off  in  spontaneous 
combustion  —  in  a  kind  of  blue  fire,  and  the  old  woman 
fretted  herself  out,  a  couple  of  years  arter ;  but,'  said  the 
Squire,  '  I  can't  be  detained.  Story  's  waitin'  for  me  on 
the  bench,  and  we  decide  the  title  to  a  million  of  acres  of 
land,  at  ten  this  morning.' 


IKE    TAKES    THE    BOOTS.  201 

'This  woke  me.  Story,  and  the  decision  by  Longbow, 
knocked  my  dream  out-er  sight.' 

Bates  pulled  off  his  boots,  and  handing  them  to  Ike,  in 
formed  him  that  they  were  his,  by  the  custom  of  Puddlefor- 
dians,  and  the  meeting  adjourned. 


9* 


202  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 


CII AFTER    XVII. 

Ike  Turtle  in  his  Office — The  Author  Consults  him  on  Point  of 
Law  — Taxes  of  Non-Residents  —  Law  in  Puddleford  —  Mr. 
Bridget's  Case  —  Legal  Discussion  —  The  Case  Settled. 

WE  very  often  get  an  idea  of  a  community,  by  fathoming 
its  leading  men.  We  stick  our  stakes  at  that  point,  and  rea 
son,  by  comparison,  downward  ;  not  that  prominent  indivi 
duals  make  the  community,  any  more  than  the  community 
makes  them ;  but  both  act,  and  react  upon  each  other,  until 
a  standard  is  formed  —  and  that  standard  is  just  high  enough 
for  the  occasion  —  the  necessities'  of  the  present.  Water 
never  rises  above  its  level. 

You  have,  respected  reader,  already  seen  much  —  perhaps 
too  much  —  of  Ike  Turtle.  You  must  recollect,  however, 
as  I  have  before  declared,  that  he  was  an  embodiment  of  the 
spirit  of  his  time.  He  was  the  presiding  genius  of  Puddle- 
ford,  and  had  been  as  much  moulded  by  it,  as  he  had 
moulded  Puddleford. 

Turtle,  as  we  have  seen,  was  a  host  in  law  —  that  is,  he 
was  a  host  in  Puddleford  law.  He  was  just  as  useful  and 
mighty  in  his  sphere  as  Webster  ever  was  in  his.  It  must 
in  candor  be  admitted  that  there  was  a  difference  in  spheres ; 
but  that  in  no  way  affects  the  principle  —  and  principle  is 
what  we  are  contending  for. 

I  have  thus  far  exhibited  to  you  Turtle  under  excitement, 
as  an  advocate  in  the  case  of  Filkins  vs.  Beadle,  defending 
his  country  against  what  he  called  an '  abolition  lecter,'  strug 
gling  in  the  cause  of  education ;  but  we  can  not  always 


IKE    TURTLE    IN    HIS    OFFICE.  203 

probe  a  great  man  to  the  bottom,  and  disinter  the  latent 
jewels  of  mind,  unless  we  know  and  observe  him  unruffled 
by  passion,  and  unswayed  by  feeling.  The  line  and  lead 
must  be  cast  into  still  waters  to  sound  the  depths  of  ocean. 

I  had  occasion  to  consult  Turtle  on  a  point  of  law.  The 
question  was,  whether  a  certain  woman  who  claimed  dower 
in  my  land  could  probably  show  a  state  of  facts  that  would 
legally  entitle  her  to  recover. 

Mr.  Turtle's  office  was  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms  of  a 
tumble-down  tailor's  shop  in  the  village.  Outside,  his  sign 
swung  to  and  fro  :  '  I.  Turtle,  'Turney  in  all  the  Courts.' 
Inside,  it  was  garnished  with  three  chairs  without  backs,  a 
pine-table,  whittled  into  pieces  by  the  loungers,  a  number  of 
loose  papers  lying  in  an  old  flour-barrel,  an  ink-bottle  with  a 
yellow  string  around  its  nose,  a  copy  of  the  Statutes,  a  stub 
of  a  pen,  Volume  Two  of  Blackstone,  and  no  law-book  be 
side,  all  of  which  were  enveloped  in  dirt  and  cobwebs.  Mr. 
Turtle  himself,  when  I  entered,  sat  in  one  chair,  his  two  feet 
stretched  wide  apart,  each  in  another,  like  the  two  extremi 
ties  of  a  letter  A;  and  Ike  himself  was  very  philosophically 
smoking  a  pipe,  and  blowing  the  whiffs  out  of  the  window. 

'  Is  this  Mr.  Turtle's  office  ?'  inquired  I. 

'  I  should  rayther  think  it  was,'  answered  Ike,  drawing  out 
his  pipe,  and  pointing  to  a  chair. 

'  I  have  a  little  business,'  said  I. 

'  Most  people  do  have,'  said  he.  '  I  'm  chuck  full  on  't  my 
self.' 

*  Suppose,'  said  I,  *  a  man  dies,  and  leaves  a  widow,  and 
that  widow  should  claim' 

'Hold  on,  right  there!'  exclaimed  Ike,  laying  down  his 
pipe,  '  Hold  on,  old  f el-low  ;  this  s'posin'  do  n't  do  in  this 
ere  \  5Ice.  I  never  gives  opinions  on  fancy  cases.  Time  's 
fittlc  'oo  precious.  I  want  the  raal  facts  on  the  matter,  jest 


204  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

as  they  happened  ;  and  beside,  Mr. ,  fust  thing  I  know 

I  shall  give  an  opinion  right  butt  agin  one  of  my  own 
clients  —  (I  have  reg'lar  clients,  you  see,  that  I  've  got-ter 
stand  up  for,  if  it  busts  me)  —  and  this  wheeling  round  and 
taking  a  back-track  sp'iles  one's  reputation,  and  tears  his 
conscience,  awful  to  behold !' 

'  Well,'  I  continued, '  as  I  was  going  to  say' 

'  No  sir-ee !  you  ain't  going  to  say.  Who  died  1  who's 
the  widow  ?  Them  are  the  starting  p'ints  in  a  new  coun 
try.' 

'  But,'  continued  I,  *  that  will  not  affect  the  principle.' 

'  Won't  it  though  ?'  answered  Ike.  '  What  are  principles 
to  folks  in  a  new  country  ?  What  are  residents  to  non-resi 
dents  ?  Why,  you  take  a  resident  widow,  a  little  good-look 
ing,  and  she  can  hold  all  the  land  she  claims  agin  a  non-resi 
dent.  Juries  have  feelings,  and  are  human  like  other  peo 
ple.' 

'Oh!  I  see,' said  L 

*  Jest  so,'  said  he. 

'  Well,  then,'  I  continued,  *  the  widow  is  a  resident  of  Pud- 
dleford,  and  so  am  I ;  and  the  widow  claims  a  life-interest 
in  one  third  of  my  land.' 

Ike  pondered,  and  rubbed  his  head,  and  looked  for  a  long 
time  steadily  at  the  toes  of  his  boots.  At  last  a  thought 
struck  him. 

4  Has  she  any  children  ?'  inquired  he. 

'She  has.' 

'Young?' 

'  Twelve  and  fourteen.' 

'  Bad  age  for  you,'  said  Ike ;  '  worse  than  two  positive 
witnesses  swearing  straight  inter  yer  favor.' 

1  But  what  have  children  to  do  with  a  principle  of  law  ?'  I 
exclaimed,  somewhat  animated. 


TAXES  AND  LAW  IN  PUDDLEFORD.          205 

*  You  're  green,'  exclaimed  Ike ;  '  you  '11  sprout  if  you  get 
catched  in  a  shower.     What  has  law  got-ter  do  with  a  wid- 
der  and  two  children  out  here  ?     Do  n't  you  know  the  widder 
and  the  two  children  will  be  put  right  straight  to  the  jury, 
and  that  they '11  swamp  you  and  your  case,  and  all  the  la' 
you  can  bring  agin  'em.' 

*  Very  likely,'  said  I ;  '  but  is  Puddleford  law  all  made  for 
widows,  babies,  and  residents  ?'  inquired  I. 

*  You  see,'  continued  Ike,  '  you  hain't  lived  long  here.     A 
new  country  is  a  kind  of  selfrsustainin'  machine.     We  've 
all  got-ter  go  in  for  ourselves.     When  folks  take  the  brunt 
of  settling  wild  land,  some  body's  got-ter  and    ought-ter 
suffer.     Non-residents  have-ter  pay  tall  taxes.    They  have  to 
pay  onto  the  value,  and  onto  our  taking  care  of  their  lands. 
We  can't  afford  to  scare  off  the  animals  and  bring  their  pro 
perty  into  market  for  nothin'.  Why,  old  Sykes,  who  lives  away 
down  to  the  east'ard,  pays  half  the  taxes  of  Puddleford,  and 
don't  own  more  than  four  sections  of  land.     The  'sessors 
kind-er  look  at  the  spirit  of  the  law,  when  they  lay  taxes, 
and  the  spirit  of  our  tax-law  stretches  'cording  to  circum 
stances.    India-rubber  ain't  nothin' .to  it.    Jest  so  in  la'  mat 
ters.     The  la'  is  favorable  to  Puddlefordians ;  our  courts  lean 
that  way  —  it 's  kind-er  second  nater  to  'em  —  a  kind-er  law 
of  self-preservation  —  primary  law  of  natur',  you  know  —  a 
duty ;  and  therefore  I  was  particular  to  know  who  the  person 
was  who  claimed  your  land.' 

4  Mine's  a  case,'  said  I,  after  Ike  concluded  his  digression, 
'of  Puddleford  against  Puddleford.' 

1  Puddleford  against  itself,  both  residents  —  a  woman  and 
two  children  against  a  man  ?' 

*  That's  the  case,'  said  I. 
1  Well !'  said  Ike. 

1  The  widow  claims  a  life-interest,  and  yet  she  signed  the 
deed  with  her  husband.' 


206  rUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

'  Did  sign  it  ?'  inquired  Ike  again.  '  What  is  she  growlin' 
about,  then  ?' 

'She  claims  she  was  deranged.' 

*  And  did  n't  know  nothin',  ha  ? 

'And  she  says  she  can  prove  it.' 

'  That  is,  Sile  Bates  can  for  her,  I  s'pose.' 

Squire  Longbow  dropped  in  at  this  point  of  the  conversa 
tion.  Ike  arose,  walked  several  times  swiftly  across  the  floor, 
turning  each  time  with  a  jerk,  and  finally  wheeling  up  in 
front  of  me,  said  his  fee  for  opinions  was  one  dollar. 

The  fee  was  paid. 

'Now,'  exclaimed  Ike,  pushing  his  fee  in  his  vest-pocket, 
'  who's  the  woman  ?' 

'Old  Mrs.  Bridget,' said  I. 

4  There  are  just  half  a  dozen  defenses,'  exclaimed  Ike  ;  '  and 
each  one  will  blow  the  case  sky-high.  No  body  can't  set  up 
insanity  in  a  new  country,  because  there  aint  nothin'  here  to 
make  anybody  insane;  and  if  there  was,  our  judges  and 
juries  think  a  leetle  too  much  of  themselves,  thick  as  the 
bushes  are,  to  'low  a  Puddlefordian  to  prove  herself  a  fool 
in  open  court.  There  is  a  pride  that  won't  permit  it.  Yes, 
Sir  T  (Here  Ike  slapped  the  table  hard  by  way  of  empha 
sis.)  'Aint  that  la',  Squire  Longbow  ?'  continued  Ike,  turn 
ing  round  to  the  Squire,  who  was  almost  magnetized  by  in 
tense  thought. 

The  Squire  gave  two  or  three  ahems  to  clear  his  throat, 
and  his  voice  seemed  a  long  time  on  its  way.  '  That,'  said 
the  Squire,  'is  just  what  the  'mortal  Story  said:  he  never 
would  permit  a  man  to  make  a  fool  of  himself;  he  went 
agin  all  such  kind-er  things.  The  'mortal  Story  said,  if  a 
man  do  n't  know  nothing,  he  oughten-ter  say  nothing,  nor  do 
nothing.  He  very  specially  said  it  war  n't  a  safe  rule  to  let 
crazy  folks  rip  up  things,  'cause  how  do  we  know,  or  any 


LEGAL    DISCUSSION.  207 

body  know,  but  they  are  jist  as  crazy  when  they  rip  'em  up, 
and  then  they'll  have  to  be  ripped  tip  over  agin' ;  that's 
the  'thority,  sir  —  page  —  let  me  see  —  but  no  matter  'bout 
pages'  - 

'  And  secondly,'  continued  Ike,  breaking  into  the  Squire, 
'it's  a  rule  of  law  that  every  body  's  stopped  by  their  deed  ; 
and  if  the  woman  knowed  enough  to  sign  and  seal  it,  that 
'ere  seal  is  an  everlasting  and  eternal  bar  to  provin'  any 
thing  agin  it.  That  '11  stop  a  crazy  woman ;  that 's  laid 
down  in  all  the  books  since  King  Richard  got  possession  of 
England,  and  the  staterts  are  full  on  it,  too.' 

The  Squire  said  'that  looked  reasonable.  How  do  we 
know  that  Andrew  Jackson  war  n't  crazy  when  he  signed 
off  the  patents  for  Puddleford.  That's  an  open  question 
yet.  And  if  it  war  n't  for  the  broad  seal  —  if  it  war  n't  for 
that  'ere  spread  eagle — some  whig  President  (and  the 
whigs  allers  did  say  '  Old  Hickory '  was  crazy)  would  set  it 
all  aside,  and  throw  all  the  land-titles  into  hotch-potch,  kick 
me  out-er  house  and  home,  and  ruin  all  Puddleford !' 

'  Certainly,'  said  I. 

*  And  agin,'  said  Ike,  *  the  woman  war  n't  crazy ;  /  can 
prove  that.' 

'  That  wilUo,' said  I*.     'How?' 

'  When  was  the  deed  executed  ?' 

I  stated. 

'  That 's  jest  the  time,'  said  Ike, '  that  old  covy,  her  brother- 
in-law,  used  her  as  a  witness  to  recover  his  farm.' 

The  Squire  said  that  '  the  woman  was  under  oath  then, 
and  she  might  tell  the  truth,  if  she  was  a  little  shattered/ 

'/Th-u-n-der !'  exclaimed  Ike. 

'  Witnesses  are  sworn  to  tell  the  truth,'  said  the  Squire. 

The  Squire  was  evidently  getting  quizzical.  Mr.  Turtle 
begged  '  he  would  not  interrupt  him  agin.  The  case  was 


208 


PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 


one  of  great  importance,  and  it  required  a  power  of  thought 
and  research  to  look  in-ter  it.' 

'And  now,' continued  Ike, 'there  are  three  more  p'ints  of 
la'  in  your  case.  You  've  got  the  fee  of  this  'ere  land  —  that 
is,  you  've  got  a  deed,  and  got  in-ter  possession  ;  that  makes 
a  fee.  And  as  to  that,  the  deed  do  n't  matter  so  much  ;  pos 
session  out  here  is  jest  as  good.  I  never  see  a  Sheriff  who 
could  get  a  man  off.  'T  aint  pop'lar  —  won't  pay  —  it  costs 
votes  —  men  don 't  vote  for  officers  who  push  'cm ;  posses 
sion  is  morc'n  nine  p'ints  of  the  la'  in  Puddleford  ;  it 's  ninety- 
nine  —  it 's  most  as  good  as  a  patent.' 

'But  that  would  be  a  resistance  of  process,  if  the  widow 
succeeded,'  said  I. 

4  There  wo  n't  be  nothing  to  resist,'  answered  Ike.  '  You  VZ 
never  feel  the  process ;  it  will  always  be  defective  —  there  '11 
be  a  flaw  in  it  some  where.  Settlers  on  the  sile  must  be 
protected.' 

'That,'  chimed  in  the  Squire,  ' is  la'.  That  was  settled  in 
the  constitution.  There  was  blood  shed  for  that.' 

'  But  there  aint  no  use,'  continued  Ike,  '  in  going  into  par 
ticulars,  and  putting  down  every  p'int  of  la'.  I  can  scatter 
a  thousand  such  cases  to  the  four  winds  —  have  done  it  —  can 
do  it  agin.  Give  me  Kent  and  the  staterts,  and  I  '11  cut  my 
way  to  daylight  in  no  time.' 

If  there  is  any  one  who  believes  that  such  an  opinion  was 
not  given  for  one  dollar,  or  that  hundreds  have  not  been 
given  in  the  very  far  west  just  as  absurd,  let  them  inquire 
farther  of  those  persons  who  have  experienced  a  frontier  life. 
Yet,  Mr.  Turtle  lives  and  flourishes,  gains  reputation,  and 
will  die  as  much  respected  and  lamented  as  any  one. 


THE    PRAIRIES    IN    THE    BREEZE.  209 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Wilderness  around  Puddleford  —  The  Rivers  and  the  Forests  — 
Suggestions  of  Old  Times  —  Foot-prints  of  the  Jesuits — Vine-cov 
ered  Mounds— Visit  to  the  Forest— The  Early  Frost— The  Forest 
Clock— The  Woodland  Harvest  — The  Last  Flowers  —  Nature 
Sowing  her  Seed  —  The  Squirrel  in  the  Hickory  —  Pigeons,  Their 
Ways  and  their  Haunts  —  The  Butterflies  and  the  Bull-frog  —  Na 
ture  and  her  Sermons  —  Her  Temple  still  Open,  but  the  High-priest 
Gone. 

PUDDLEFORD  was  a  mere  spot  in  the  wilderness.  Its  re 
gion  abounded  with  patches  of  improved  land,  and  patches 
partly  improved,  and  fields  of  stumps  that  the  pioneer  had 
just  passed  over  with  his  axe.  The  great  sweep  of  land 
around  it,  however,  was  a  wilderness  —  not  a  thicket  —  not 
a  dense  mass  of  timber,  nor  a  swamp  —  but  a  rolling  plain 
of  upland,  prairie,  and  heavily-wooded  flats  along  the  rivers; 
and  it  extended  no  one  knew  where,  and  was  covered  with 
lakes  and  rivers  that  shone,  and  roared,  and  babbled,  day 
and  night,  through  the  great  solitude.  The  surface  of  the 
upland  was  as  smooth  and  shaven  as  an  English  park.  No 
undergrowth  obstructed  the  eye,  and  the  outline  of  a  deer 
might  be  discerned  two  miles  distant.  Trees  upon  the  dis 
tant  ground-swells,  amid  their  quivering  shadows,  appeared 
to  be  riding  upon  waves.  In  this  gigantic  park,  which  over 
reached  degrees  of  longitude,  flowers  of  every  form  and  hue 
budded,  blossomed,  faded,  and  died,  from  May  until  Novem 
ber.  The  prairies  were  so  many  blooming  seas,  and  when 
the  soft  south-west  stirred  up  their  depths,  they  shed  a  gor- 
geouD  light,  as  if  they  were  breathing  out  rainbow  colors. 


210  rUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

The  rivers  that  watered  this  waste  were  large,  and  flowed 
from  still  deeper  solitudes  toward  the  great  lakes.  The  sun, 
as  ancient  as  they,  rose  and  set  upon  them  now  as  it  did 
centuries  ago.  The  forests  upon  their  banks  sprang  up, 
flourished,  waxed  old,  and  died ;  and  still  the  river  ran,  and 
new  forests  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  the  old,  and  the  glory  of 
the  new  stood  implanted  in  the  grave  of  the  old.  The  bison, 
moose,  and  bear  drank  from  the  sources  of  these  rivers, 
driven  upward  by  the  noise  of  civilization.  But  they  had 
an  interest  to  me  beyond  all  this :  they  were  the  inlets  of 
Christian  missionaries  more  than  a  century  ago.  It  was  up 
these  streams  that  the  French  Jesuit,*  with  his  eye  aloft,  and 
the  cross  erect,  paddled  his  solitary  canoe  among  the  abori 
gines.  Here  he  built  his  camp-fire  beneath  the  stars,  and 
told  his  rosary  in  the  awful  presence  of  his  God  —  how  aw 
ful,  indeed,  in  such  a  spot,  at  such  u  time !  We  can  almost 
see  the  venerable  man,  and  hear  the  dip  of  his  oar;  the 
water-fowl  scream,  scared,  and  dive  along  before  him,  and  the 
Indian  stands  upon  the  bank  in  his  presence,  like  a  mon 
ument  in  wonder. 

The  foot-prints  of  the  Jesuits  are  still  found  upon  the 
blufts  of  these  rivers.  Mounds,  which  were  thrown  by  them 
into  square  and  circular  forms,  now  roofless  and  silent,  and 
matted  all  over  with  vines,  still  bear  witness  to  their  devo 
tion.  Yet,  how  little  is  thought  of  them  now  !  Because  the 
Jesuits  did  not  till  the  earth,  and  sow,  and  reap,  and  swell 
the  commerce  of  the  world :  but  did  n't  they  sow  ?  They 
sowed  the  seeds  of  everlasting  life  among  the  simple  children 
of  the  forest ;  and  they  have  sown  from  age  to  age  since,  and 
many  an  Indian  still  offers  the  prayer  which  was  taught  his 
forefathers  so  long  ago. 

Such,  reader,  were  the  woods  around  Puddleford,  and  such 

*  Father  Hennepin  and  others. 


A  LATE  SEPTEMBER  SCENE.  211 

the  associations.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  going  down  into  their 
depths,  and  scraping  acquaintance  with  the  inhabitants.  It 
was  a  relief  to  me.  I  sometimes  even  went  so  far  as  to  set 
myself  up  as  a  sportsman.  I  made  a  special  visit,  just  after 
the  first  frost,  for  the  purpose  of  spying  out  the  game.  The 
morning  was  still  and  bright,  and  the  dash  of  a  distant  rivu- . 
let,  which  I  could  step  across,  filled  the  '  long  drawn  aisles ' 
with  its  echoes.  I  had  been  down  often  during  the  summer, 
but  every  object  looked  strangely  different  now.  The  first 
frost  had  given  nature  a  shock  —  a  kind  of  palsy;  she 
looked  serene,  almost  sad.  Its  inmates  had  gadded  about 
during  the  summer  in  a  very  reckless  way ;  they  looked 
more  sober  after  the  first  frost  —  more  thoughtful  —  more 
anxious  about  something. 

It  was  late  in  September,  and  yet  *  the  storms  of  the  wild 
Equinox,  with  all  its  wet,'  had  not  come.  It  was  due,  and 
over-due.  Amid  the  more  hardy  foliage,  the  first  frost  had 
drawn  his  brush  in  the  most  delicate  way  possible  —  a  mere 
tinge,  and  no  more  —  a  kind  of  autumnal  hint.  There  was 
one  limb  of  an  oak  just  changing,  and  the  balance  of  the 
tree  stood  up  as  bravely  and  defiant  as  ever ;  the  soft  maple 
was  completely  dipped  —  it  blazed  ;  the  aspen  trembled  and 
glowed ;  the  hickory  was  only  touched,  and  still  hesitated 
about  her  full  suit  of  yellow ;  while  the  dog-wood  and  spice- 
bush  had  entirely  given  up  the  ghost. 

It  was  just  after  the  first  frost,  so  I  went  down  to  the 
banks  of  the  rivulet  that  had  so  long  been  singing  its  wood 
land  psalm.  It  came  from  away  off  somewhere,  and  strayed, 
and  dove  over  precipices,  and  spread  into  miniature  lakes ; 
but,  where  I  stood,  it  tumbled  through  a  gorge  with  green, 
sloping  banks.  As  I  gazed,  the  sun  waxed  higher  and  warm 
er.  Day  wore  its  way  up  the  gorge,  and  literally  struck  a 


212  PUDDLEFORD   AND  ITS    PEOPLE. 

sisterhood  of  frosted  sumacs,  and  they  turned  blood -red  :  I 
thought  I  saw  them  shift  their  summer  dress. 

Near  by,  a  vine  circled  a  tree,  and  swung  out  from  its  top. 
I  had  noticed  it  many  times  before  during  the  season.  It 
was  then  hung  with  large-mouthed  flowers,  which  opened 
with  the  morning.  Was  it  a  summer-chime  of  bells,  that 
tolled  the  sunlight  into  the  temple  ?  —  the  forest-clock,  that 
opened  and  shut  the  hours  ?  The  bells  were  broken  now ; 
the  first  frost  had  cracked  them.  I  saw  a  bird,  dressed  in 
blue,  run  up  the  vine,  and  hitch  along  in  a  very  deliberate 
way,  and  peer  into  this  bell  and  into  that,  as  if  he  wondered 
why  they  did  not  spread ;  but  this  might  have  been  an  odd 
fancy  of  mine. 

The  first  frost  seemed  to  have  passed  through  the  tree-tops 
that  rolled  over  the  gorge  in  a  hurry.  The  prominent  points 
of  the  foliage  were  tufted  with  russet,  but  its  hollows  and 
dells  were  as  green  as  ever. 

The  woodland  harvest  was  nigh  —  the  Creator's  own  har 
vest,  sown  and  reaped  without  the  aid  of  man.  The  paw 
paw  began  to  shed  its  fruit ;  mandrakes  stood  up  all  over 
the  forest,  like  umbrellas  loaded  with  apples  of  gold ;  the 
wild  cucumber  was  bending  under  its  own  weight ;  the  bark  of 
the  hickory  and  beech-nut  was  broken,  and  the  fruit  peeped 
out;  acorns  were  loosening  in  their  cups;  the  grape  was 
purple  and  fragrant,  and  ready  to  gush  with  richness ;  and 
away  down  below  me  I  noticed  a  crabbed,  sour-looking  plum- 
tree,  holding  on  to  the  hill-side  with  all  its  energy,  and  cov 
ered  with  its  rosy-cheeked  children. 

A  few  flowers  yet  lingered  on  the  upland,  breathing  their 
last.  The  pink,  violet,  lupin,  and  a  thousand  nameless  ones, 
had  shed  and  buried  their  seeds  long  before ;  but  the  flaming, 
cardinal-fringed  gentian,  the  yellow  moccasin,  and  troops  of 


THE    SQUIRREL    AND    HIS    CONVERSATION.  213 

lilies,  still  crowded  the  swales  and  water-courses,  braving 
out  the  first  frost.  Insects  were  singing  a  melancholy  dirge 
around  me ;  a  bee  droned  past  in  great  haste,  with  a  conse 
quential  hum  ;  the  year  was  passing  and  dying,  like  a  vibra 
tion  over  the  earth. 

The  air  was  filled  with  winged  seeds,  sailing  away  off 
here,  and  away  off  there,  and  going  1  do  not  know  where. 
The  wild  cotton  burst  its  pod,  and  furred  out  at  a  great  rate; 
a  large  company  of  thistle-balloons  rolled  up  lazily  into  the 
sky,  and  went  out  of  sight,  (to  the  stars,  probably,)  directed 
by  some  invisible  hand  to  the  place  of  their  destination. 
Birds  were  picking  and  carrying  clusters  of  grapes  and  s'coke 
far  and  wide.  How  beautifully  nature  sows  her  solemn 
wastes !  The  winds  and  the  birds  are  her  husbandmen,  and 
the  work  goes  on  with  a  song. 

There  was  a  bustle  in  a  hickory  —  a  black-squirrel  was 
flirting  about,  and  making  an  examination  of  the  crop.  He 
had  come  early  into  the  harvest-field.  He  ran  up  and  down 
the  branches,  nipped  the  nuts,  jumped  upon  his  haunches, 
thought  awhile,  chattered  to  himself,  and  said  —  or  I 
thought  he  said  —  *  Little  too  soon '  —  *  Little  too  soon '  — 
*  Come  again '  —  *  Come  again.'  At  a  distance,  a  male-par 
tridge,  with  his  tail  curved  like  a  fan,  and  his  feathers  erect, 
was  blustering  and  strutting  around  with  great  pomp,  as  con 
sequential  as  a  Broadway  fop  —  a  rabbit,  crouched  in  a  heap, 
sat  off  timidly  under  an  upturned  root,  eating  a  paw-paw  — 
a  lonely  snipe  came  tetering  up  the  rivulet  —  a  robin  lit  upon 
a  scoke-bush,  picked  a  berry  or  two,  whistled,  took  a  kind  of 
last  look,  and  departed  ;  a  little  bird,  as  rich  as  sunset,  next 
startled  me  with  a  stream  of  fire,  which  he  wove  through 
the  green  foliage,  as  if  he  were  tying  it  up  with  a  blazing 
cord;  a  sanctimonious  crow  floated  in  circles  in  the  air, 
and  screamed  very  savagely  to  things  below  him,  like  a 


214  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

preacher  in  a  passion,  and  I  heard  turkeys  clucking  and 
calling  to  each  other  in  every  direction. 

Suddenly,  a  flock  of  pigeons  broke  the  few  bars  of  light 
that  were  struggling  down,  and  wheeled  to  a  dry  limb,  at  a 
respectful  distance ;  they  ranged  themselves  in  rows  like  pla 
toons  of  soldiers,  and  bowed  forwards  and  sideways,  in  a 
very  polite,  diplomatic  way.  A  few  words  passed  between 
them  —  (pigeons  do  n't  talk  much)  —  exchanging,  no 
doubt,  opinions  of  me  and  my  whereabouts.  By  and  by, 
one  spread  his  wings  and  fluttered  to  the  ground,  and  began 
feeding  —  then  another,  and  another,  until  the  whole  flock 
descended,  except  three  sentinels,  who  remained  posted,  to 
watch  and  guard.  I  knew  them  well.  There  was  a  '  roost' 

O 

in  a  tamarack  swamp,  some  miles  distant.  Not  long  before, 
I  had  visited  their  noisy  metropolis.  It  was  at  the  close  of 
day,  and  its  evergreen  canopy  was  half-dipped  in  light.  I 
recollected  what  hosts  came  thronging  in,  on  all  sides, 
roaring  like  a  tempest,  and  how  they  piled  themselves  upon 
the  top  of  each  other  upon  the  boughs  like  swarming-bees  — 
and  how  all  night  the  trees  bent  and  cracked  with  the 
crowded  population,  who  seemed  continually  treading  upon 
each  other's  toes,  and  tumbling  each  other's  beds  —  and 
how,  when  the  day  dawned,  they  all  dissolved,  and  winged 
their  way  to  the  plains,  and  the  troubled  city  was  as  silent 
as  fallen  Babylon. 

I  like  the  pigeon.  He  has  a  business-way,  and  a  way  of 
minding  his  own  business.  He  is  always  doing  something. 
Who  ever  saw  a  pigeon  trifle  or  frolic,  or  put  on  airs  ?  He  is 
the  clipper  of  the  skies'  air-line.  Eight  hundred  miles  a 
day,  few  stoppages,  and  no  bursting  of  boilers.  He  is  a 
practical  bird  —  no  such  dreamy,  twilight  sort  of  a  thing  as 
the  whip-poor-will,  who  is  forever  complaining  about  nothing 
like  a  miserable  rhymester  —  —  whir  —  whir  —  whir.  *  Ah  ! 


THE    WHITE    BUTTERFLIES.  215 

you  are  going.  Pay  iny  respects  to  the  alligators  among 
the  rice-swamps  of  Florida,'  said  I,  '  when  you  see  them, 
next  winter.' 

The  pigeons  were  started  by  the  bay  of  hounds.  By 
their  voice,  the  hounds  had  probably  been  on  the  chase 
during  most  of  the  night  —  (it  was  a  weary  voice  and  al 
most  painful)  —  and  I  soon  discovered  that  they  were  ap 
proaching.  Soon  a  drove  of  deer,  led  forward  by  a  noble 
buck,  carrying  antlers  like  tree-branches,  came  crashing  by, 
leaped  the  ravine,  and  were  soon  followed  by  their  pursuers, 
and  I  watched  them  afar  over  the  plain,  until  they  were 
lost.  I  knew  the  dogs.  They  belonged  to  venison  Styles. 
But  where  was  Venison  ?  I  could  see  the  old  hunter,  in  my 
imagination,  standing  away  off  on  some  "  run-way,"  listening 
to  the  strife  around  him,  and  watching  for  his  victims. 

Perhaps  you  know,  and  perhaps  you  do  n't  know,  reader, 
that  deer,  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  have  'run-ways'  — 
that  they  have  great  Always  —  thoroughfares  that  follow 
mountains,  thread  morasses,  cross  lakes  and  streams,  up 
and  down  which  they  travel.  I  cannot  say  who  first  laid 
them  out.  It  may  be  they  can  tell.  If  I  ever  find  out,  I 
will  let  you  know. 

I  was  next  overhauled  by  a  fleet  of  white  butterflies,  who 
came  winding  down  the .  brook,  in  a  very  loitering  sort  of  a 
way.  They  anchored  in  front  of  me,  near  the  water's  edge, 
and  amused  themselves  by  opening  and  shutting  their  huge 
sails  —  imge  for  butterflies.  Their  wings  were  all  bedropped 
with  gold,  and  powdered  with  silver-dust.  Then  another 
fleet,  arrayed  in  chocolate-velvet,  came  up  the  stream.  They 
were  large  and  showy.  Their  chocolate-wings  were  ribbed 
with  lines  of  blue  and  green  ;  and  a  few  plain,  yellow  ple 
beians  followed  on  after,  train-bearers,  probably,  to  their 
lordly  superiors.  What  brush  touched  those  rich  and  deli- 


216  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

cate  wings  f  What  alchemist  wrought  those  magical  colors  1 
Who  put  on  those  gorgeous  uniforms  ?  Were  they  equip 
ped  for  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the  world,  or  their  own  1 
For  what  purpose  was  this  winged  mystery  sent  upon  the 
earth  ?  Just  here  a  large  frog,  who  had  been  sitting  on  a 
stone  near  the  water,  wrapped  up  to  his  eyes  in  his  green 
surtout,  looking  as  taciturn  and  gloomy  as  the  Pope,  went 
down  with  a  'jug-a-ro,'  and  spoiled  my  reflections. 

It  was  just  after  the  first  frost,  and  the  wasps  were  hard 
at  work,  preparing,  or  repairing  their  mansions  for  winter. 
The  mason-wasp,  as  he  is  called,  was  digging  up  the  mud, 
which  he  carried  to  a  hollow  log,  where  he  lived.  He  was 
'  plastering  up  a  little.'  The  '  paper-wasp '  was  gathering 
wild  cotton  and  flax,  and  manufacturing  it,  for  his  palaco 
that  hung,  half-furnished,  swinging  in  a  tree*  like  a  top. 
Strange  that  man  should  have  so  long  remained  without  the 
secret  of  making  paper  —  when  the  wasp  had  made  and 
hung  it  up  high  before  his  eyes,  for  so  many  thousand  years. 

Thus,  reader,  the  great  wilderness  was  alive  —  and  away 
down  the  chain  of  animated  being,  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
eye  or  ear,  there  was  life  —  busy  life  —  all  links  in  a  great 
chain  held  and  electrified  by  the  hand  of  the  Almighty. 

What  sermons  there  were  all  around  me  —  nature  preach 
ing  through  her  works  !  What  cathedral  like  this,  with  its 
living  pillars  —  its  dome  of  sun,  and  moon,  and  stars  ? 
Morn  swings  back  its  portals  with  light  and  song,  and  even 
ing  gently  closes  them  again  amid  her  deepening  shadows  — 
and  the  worship  and  work  goes  on  like  the  swell  of  an  an 
them  ;  but  the  great  high-priest  that  worshipped  at  its 
altars,  and  burnt  incense  to  the  spirit  that  pervades  this  soli 
tude,  where  is  he  ?  Where  are  his  fires  now  ?  The  temple 
still  stands,  and  the  anthem  is  still  heard,  but  the  worship 
pers  are  gone.  *  Lo !  the  poor  Indian.' 


A   NEW-ENGLAND   VILLAGE.  217 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Old  New-England  Home  —  The  Sheltered  Village — The  Ancient 
Buildings  —  Dormer-Windows  —  An  Old  Puritanical  Home  —  The 
Old  Puritan  Church  —  The  Burying-Ground  —  Deacon  Smith,  his 
Habits  and  his  Helpers  —  Major  Simeon  Giles,  his  Mansion  and  his 
Ancestry  —  Old  Doctor  Styles — Crapo  Jackson,  the  Sexton  — 
4  Training  Days '  —  Militia  Dignitaries  —  Major  Boles  —  Major- 
General  Peabody —  Preparations  and  Achievements  —  Demolition 
of  an  Apple-Cart  — '  Shoulder  Arms ! '  —  Colonel  Asher  Peabody — 
The  Boys,  and  their  World —  My  Last  Look  at  my  Native  Village. 

READER,  there  are  mental  pictures  in  the  wilderness,  as 
vivid  as  any  in  nature.  They  are  the  pictures  of  the  past. 
They  haunt  the  pioneer  by  day  and  by  night.  They  go 
with  him  over  the  fields  —  sit  down  with  him  by  the  streams — 
linger  around  his  evening  hearth,  and  rise  up  in  his  dreams. 

I  was  born  in  New-England.  The  village  was  very  old, 
and  had  received  and  discharged  generations  of  men.  Some 
two  centuries  ago,  a  troop  of  iron-sided  old  pilgrims,  full  of 
theology  and  man's  rights,  an  off-shoot  of  a  larger  body, 
with  their  pastor  at  their  head,  founded  the  place,  and  gave 
it  tone  and  direction. 

This  village  is  very  beautiful  now.  It  stands  sheltered 
between  two  mountains  that  cast  their  morning  and  evening 
shadows  over  it.  A  long  stretch  of  meadow-land  lies  be 
tween,  through  which  a  river,  fringed  with  willows,  lazily 
lingers  and  twists  in  elbows  and  half-circles.  The  mountains 
sometimes  look  down  very  grim  at  the  valley,  and  in  places 
have  advanced  almost  across  it.  There  are  a  great  many 
profiles  detected  by  the  imagination  in  their  outline.  Cotton 
10 


218  PUDDLEFORD    AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

Mather's  face  lias  been  discovered  in  one  huge  rock  —  ancl 
the  old  fellow's  head  seems  to  withstand  the  storms  of  nature 
about  as  successfully  as  it  did  the  storms  of  life.  The 
'Devil's  Pulpit' — a  group  of  splintered  shafts  of  Gothic 
appearance  —  is  near  by,  and  superstitious  persons  used  to 
think  that  during  every  thunder- storm,  his  majesty  entered 
it,  arrayed  in  garments  of  fire,  and  gave  the  Puritan  a  sound 
lecture. 

There  are  all  kinds  of  btrildiargs  in  this  village.  These 
buildings  mark  the  age  in  which  they  were  erected,  and  are 
the  real  monuments  of  their  founders.  They  are  as  they 
were.  They  have  have  not  been  marred  or  profaned  by 
modern  notions.  Some  are  very  eccentric  piles,  hoary  with 
age,  full  of  angles  and  sharp  corners,  and  some  are  painfully 
plain  and  severe.  They  all  have  a  face,  a  cast  of  counte 
nance,  an  expression  —  they  almost  talk  the  English  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  The  row  of  dormer  windows 
on  the  roof,  are  to  me  great  eyes  that  frown  down  iipon  the 
frivolity  and  thoughtlessness  of  the  present  —  and  those  eyes* 
are  full  of  theology  and  civil  rights.  They  look  as  though 
they  were  watching  a  Quaker,  or  reading  the  stamp-act. 
The  very  souls  of  their  architects  are  transferred  to  them.  I 
never  enter  one,  even  in  these  fearless  times,  without  feeling 
nervous  and  sober,  half-expecting  to  run  a-fbul  of  its  original 
proprietor,  with  some  interrogatory  about  my  business,  and 
the  wickedness  of  his  descendants. 

There  u-sed  to  stand  —  there  is  still  standing — one  of 
these  queer  piles  upon  a  bluff  overlooking  the  river.  It  was 
built  of  stone,  and  is  very  much  moss-grown.  It  fairly  looks 
daggers  at  the  ambitious  little  structures  that  have  sprouted 
up  by  its  side.  It  is  a  heap  of  Pm-.tanieal  thoughts  —  visible 
thoughts  —  all  hardened  into  wood  and  rock.  Thfere  it  has 
stood,  frowning  and  frowning  for  a  century  and  a  half.  It 


OLD   PICTURES.  219 

is  full  of  great,  massive  timbers  and  stones,  and  is  as  stout 
as  the  heart  of  its  founder.  A  weather-cock  is  attached  to 
OIK)  of  the  chimneys  —  a  sheet-iron  angel,  lying  on  his 
breast,  and  blowing  a  trumpet,  and  the  wind  shifts  him  round 
and  round  over  different  parts  of  the  village.  This  angel  has 
blown  away  thousands  of  men,  but  there  he  lies,  his  cheeks 
puffed,  blowing  yet,  as  fresh  and  healthy  as  ever. 

The  internal  arrangement  of  this  building  is  character 
istic.  A  dark,  gloomy  hall  —  an  enormous  fire-place,  ex 
tending  across  the  whole  end  of  a  room  —  a  quaint  pair  of 
andirons,  which  run  up  very  high  and  prim,  and  turn  back 
like  a  hook,  with  a  dog's-head  growling  on  each  tip.  There 
are  strange  pictures  on  the  walls,  which  have  been  preserved 
in  memory  of  the  past  —  Moses  leading  the  Children  of  Is 
rael  through  the  Wilderness  —  Samson  slaying  the  Lion  — 
David  cutting  off  the  head  of  Goliah  — stern  shadows  of 
the  men  who  used  to  study  them — not  very  remarkable 
works  of  art,  but  vivid  outlines  of  the  scenes  themselves. 

This  house  has  been  occupied  by  an  illustrious  line  of 
men,  distinguished  as  divines,  lawyers,  and  reformers,  and  it 
seems  to  glow  with  the  fires  they  kindled  in  it  —  in  fact,  I 
believe  it  is  inhabited  by  them  yet.  I  believe  that  Parson 

who  lived  under  its  roof  for  more  than  half  a  century, 

and  preached  during  that  time  in  the  church  near  by,  occa 
sionally  mounts  his  low-crowned,  broad-brimmed  hat,  round- 
cornered  coat,  short-breeches,  knee-buckles,  and  heavy  shoes, 
ties  on  his  white  neck- cloth  and  takes  his  cane,  and  in  a 
spiritual  way,  wanders  back  to  his  mansion,  sits  down  again 
before  the  capacious  fire-place,  and  meditates  an  hour  or  two 
as  he  used  to  do  in  life.  He  is  one  of  those  who  keep  the 
house  company,  and  give  to  it  its  sober  air  of  determination 
and  defiance. 

The  old  Puritan  church  stands  near  by.    Time  has  thrown 


220  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

a  mantle  of  moss  over  it.  When  erected,  it  was  shingled 
from  foundation  to  steeple  —  and  a  quaint  little  pepper-box 
steeple  it  was.  Square,  high,  solemn-looking  pews  may  be 
yet  seen  inside.  The  pulpit  is  perched  away  up  under  the 
eaves,  like  a  swallow's  nest.  It  is  reached  by  a  flight  of 
steps  almost  as  long  as  Jacob's  ladder.  It  is  covered  with 
names,  inscriptions  written  by  men  and  women  who  were 
dust  long  ago.  It  looks  like  the  place  where  'Old Hundred' 
was  born,  lived,  and  died  —  sombre,  earnest,  immovable. 

A  burying-ground  ancient  as  the  church,  closes  in  on  its 
three  sides,  and  partly  encircles  it  in  its  arms.  There  is 
preaching  there  yet.  The  dust  of  the  living  and  dead  con 
gregations  are  one : 

'  Part  of  the  host  have  crossed  the  flood, 
And  part  are  crossing  now.' 

Rough  tomb-stones  —  mere  ragged  slugs,  torn  from  some 
quarry — rounded  and  smoothed  a  little  by  a  pious  hand  — 
stand  half-buried  in  the  earth,  pointing  to  the  silent  sleeper 
below.  And  then  there  are  marble  slabs,  of  a  more  modern 
date  —  yet  very  old  —  leaning  this  way  and  that,  and  nod 
ding  at  each  other.  Preachers  and  congregations  lie  side 
by  side,  and  it  is  one  eternal  Sabbath  now.  There  are 
quaint  pictures,  and  holy  pictures,  and  horrible  pictures 
chiselled  out  on  these  slabs.  Skeleton  Death,  triumphantly 
marching  with  his  scythe !  Skulls  !  angels  —  and  occasion 
ally  a  figure  that  looks  like  his  Satanic  majesty !  Epitaphs 
full  of  theology,  wit,  and  practical  wisdom,  are  strown 
around  with  an  unsparing  hand. 

There  are  a  few  genuine  specimens  of  the  Puritan  stock 
lingering  in  this  village  —  great  boulders  that  lie  around  in 
society,  like  granite  blocks  on  the  earth,  dropped  by  Time  in 
his  flight,  and  overlooked  or  forgotten.  Deacon  Smith  is 


DEACON    SMITH.  221 

one  of  them.  He,  and  his  father,  and  his  father's  father, 
were  born  and  lived  in  the  house  he  now  occupies.  He  has 
almost  reached  four  score  and  ten  years.  He  wears  the 
costume  of  'seventy-six,  inside  and  out.  His  habits  are  as 
uniform  and  regular  as  the  swing  of  the  pendulum.  He  re 
tires  at  nine,  rises  at  four,  breakfasts  at  six,  and  dines  at  twelve ; 
and  this  is  done  to  a  fraction  —  no  allowance  is  made  for 
circumstances  —  what  are  circumstances  in  the  way  of  one 
of  his  rules  ?  He  marches  to  bed  at  the  time,  and  would, 
if  he  left  the  President  of  the  Republic  behind  him  —  he 
sits  down  to  his  table  at  the  time,  whether  there  is  a  dish 
on  it  or  not.  Law  is  law  with  him. 

The  deacon  hates  royalty  and  the  British  —  he  never 
overlooked  the  blood  they  shed  in  the  revolution.  He  sel 
dom  speaks  to  an  Englishman.  He  hates  interlopers,  inno 
vations,  modern  improvements ;  and  I  recollect  well,  how 
he  poured  out  his  vials  of  wrath  upon  the  first  buggy  wagon 
that  he  saw.  He  said  it  was  a  '  very  nice  thing  to  sleep  in.' 
He  left  the  church  for  some  months,  when  stoves  were  first 
put  up,  and  declared  that  it  was  '  as  great  a  sacrilege  as  was 
ever  committed,  and  enough  to  overthrow  the  piety  of  a 
saint.  Religion  would  keep  a  man  warm  any  where.'  He 
says  he  *  thinks  the  Puritan  blood  is  running  down  into 
slops !  folks  are  rushing  headlong  to  perdition  !  that  there 
has  n't  been  a  man  in  the  village  for  twenty  years  who  ought 
to  be  intrusted  with  himself — and  it  seems  to  him  that  the 
world  is  winding  up  business  ! ' 

When  the  deacon  rises,  he  goes  around  his  house  hawking, 
spitting,  slamming  doors,  tumbling  down  wood,  just  to  cast 
a  slur  on  the  lazy  habits  of  modern  days.  Sometimes,  he 
tramps  up  and  down  the  village,  two  hours  before  day, 
a-hemming,  hawing,  and  sneezing,  for  the  purpose  of  letting 
the  sluggards  understand  he  is  stirring.  He  has  been  known, 


222  PUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS   PEOPLE. 

on  more  than  one  occasion,  to  give  vent  to  his  feelings,  at 
this  early  hour,  by  blowing  the  family  dinner-horn,  and 
declaring,  as  the  blast  echoed  away,  '  that  no  Christian  man 
could  sleep,  after  such  a  call. 

The  Deacon  has  a  few  helpers  about  him,  who  think  as 
he  thinks  —  but  they  are  very  few.  When  they  meet,  the 
world  takes  a  most  inhuman  raking  —  they  spare  neither 
'  age,  sex,  nor  condition.7 

But  the  leading  business  men  of  the  village  are  of  a  differ 
ent  stamp  —  not  Puritans,  but  Puritanical  —  the  same  rock 
with  the  corners  knocked  off —  of  less  strength,  but  more 
polish.  They  reverence  their  fathers,  keep  the  religious  and 
political  altar  they  have  raised  burning,  but  are  not  so  re 
gardless  of  temporal  comforts  ;  in  a  word,  they  are  Yankees. 

Major  Simeon  Giles  is  a  specimen.  It  is  difficult  to  draw 
his  portrait.  He  had  a  hard,  dry  face,  which  looks  as 
though  it  had  been  turned  out  from  a  seasoned  white-oak 
knot.  He  wears  a  grievous  expression,  lying  some  where 
between  sobriety  and  melancholy.  His  money,  character 
and  family  have  made  him  a  great  man  —  he  is  a  leading 
personage  in  church  and  state,  and  exercises  a  wonderful  in 
fluence  in  every  department  of  society.  The  Deacon  is  full 
of  dry  expressions,  and  many  of  his  cool,  sly  remarks  have 
become  proverbs;  but  the  hardest  thing  he  ever  said  was 
after  his  pious  soul  had  been  very  much  vexed,  when  he  ob 
served,  '  that  if  Providence  should  see  fit  to  remove  Mr. 

from  this  vale  of  tears,  lie  would  endeavor  to  resign  himself 
to  the  stroke.' 

Major  Simeon  has  many  severe  struggles  within  him,  be 
tween  the  flesh  and  the  spirit.  His  avarice  and  piety  are 
both  strong,  and  the  former  sometimes  gains  a  temporary 
advantage.  All  his  movements  are  governed  by  method. 
He  remains  so  long  at  his  store,  so  long  at  his  house,  '  takes 


MAJOR    SIMEON    GILES.  223 

a  journey '  with  his  family  once  a  year,  *  has  a  place  for  every 
thing,  and  every  thing  in  its  place,' — a  peg  for  his  hat,  a 
corner  for  his  boots  —  and  he  is  almost  as  rigid  in  observing 
and  enforcing  his  laws,  as  Deacon  Smith. 

Major  Simeon  is  supreme,  of  course,  over  his  own  family. 
He  never  trifles  with  his  children.  A  cold  shadow  falls 
around  him,  which  often  silences  their  voice  of  mirth  and 
ringing  laugh  —  the  effect  of  reverence,  however,  more  than 
fear. 

Major  Giles  lives  in  the  'Old  Giles  Mansion.'  I  will  not 
pretend  to  say  how  many  Gileses  have  occupied  it.  Their  por 
traits  are  hanging  upon  its  walls,  and  their  bodies  lie  in  the 
burying-ground ;  a  long  row  of  them,  all  the  way  across  it, 
and  half  back  again  —  bud,  blossom,  and  gathered  fruit. 
There  is  the  portrait  of  the  celebrated  Elnathan  Giles,  who 
died  during  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne.  He  looks  very  stern. 
He  had  passed  through  the  scenes  of  the  Salem  witchcraft, 
and  had  been  personally  connected  with  the  excitement  — 
had  attended  several  of  the  trials  as  a  witness ;  was  bewitched 
once  himself — and,  according  to  family  tradition,  saw  one 
witch  hung  —  on  out-and-out  witch  —  who  had  bridled  many 
innocent  people  at  midnight,  sailed  through  chamber  win 
dows,  and  hurry-scurried  off  with  them,  astride  a  broom 
stick. 

Next  to  him,  hangs  the  face  of  his  son,  *  Colonel  Ethelbert,' 
as  he  was  called,  who  lived  just  long  enough  to  fight  at 
Bunker  Hill.  He  had  been  a  militia  colonel  before  the  re 
volution,  and  militia  colonels  were  something  in  those  days. 
He  made  a  ferocious  looking  portrait,  certainly.  One  can 
almost  smell  gunpowder  in  the  room.  He  is  dressed  up  in 
his  military  coat,  standing  collar,  an  epaulette  on  his  shoulder, 
and  there  are  strewn  around  him  in  the  back-ground,  armies, 
artillery,  drums,  and  banners.  No  wonder  the  Americans 


224  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

were  victorious.     And  then  came  the  face  of  Major  Simeon 
whom  I  have  described. 

The  wives  of  these  men  are  also  done  up  in  oil,  and  hang 
meekly  and  submissively  by  the  side  of  their  lords,  as  all 
wives  should,  or  rather  as  all  wives  did,  in  those  days  —  and 
actually  died  without  knowing  how  much  they  were  op 
pressed. 

There  are  other  things  beside  portraits,  to  remind  Major 
Simeon  of  his  ancestry.  There  is  a  tree  still  standing,  (strange 
that  a  tree  should  outlive  generations  of  men,)  that  Elnathan 
planted  with  his  own  hand,  on  the  day  Ethelbert  was  born  — 
a  stately  elm,  whose  branches,  in  their  magnificent  curve, 
almost  sweep  the  ground.  This  tree  shadowed  the  cold  face 
of  both  Elnathan  and  Ethelbert,  when  their  coffins  were 
closed  for  the  last  time  beneath  it.  There  is  the  spring,  more 
than  a  half  a  century  old,  that  bubbles  from  the  hill,  and 
goes  trickling,  leaping,  and  flashing  down  the  green  slope, 
singing  away  to  itself  as  sweetly  as  ever.  The  old  lilac  bush, 
too,  has  outlived  thousands  whose  hands  have  plucked  its 
blossoms,  and  yet  it  bursts  out  in  the  spring,  and  looks  as 
fresh  as  the  children  who  play  beneath  it. 

It  has  been  thought  that  Major  Simeon  and  his  family 
were  aristocratic.  There  is  a  stately  air  about  them,  when 
they  enter  church,  that  smacks  of  blood.  And  the  Major 
himself  has  often  declared,  that,  while  '  stock  is  n't  every 
thing,  it  is  a  great  consolation  to  know,  in  his  case,  that  the 
name  of  Giles  has  never  been  stained. 

There  are  several  other  families  in  the  village  whose  an 
cestry  runs  back  as  far  as  the  Gileses' ;  and  they  have  about 
them  as  many  heir-looms  to  remind  them  of  it. 

The  village  is  filled  with  other  characters,  quite  as  original 
as  any  I  have  described.  They  are  important  personages, 
and  have  lived  in  it  a  long  time  ;  but  they  have  no  family 


OLD    DOCTOR    STYLES.  225 

history  to  fall  back  upon.  There  is  Major  Follett,  who  still 
lingers  on  the  shores  of  time,  and  sustains  a  vast  dignity 
amid  his  declining  years.  His  head  is  very  white,  his  hat 
very  sleek,  and  his  silk  vest  is  piled  very  full  of  ruffles.  He 
carries  a  gold-headed  cane,  and  when  ho  marches  through 
the  streets,  it  rises  and  falls  with  great  emphasis,  in  harmony 
with  his  right  foot.  Now  and  then  he  gives  out  an  ahem  ! 
—  one  of  the  lordly  kind  —  that  fairly  awes  down  his  infe 
riors.  He  is  a  remarkable  talker,  too,  among  his  equals  — 
uses  words  having  a  great  many  syllables.  He  never  spits, 
but  '  expectorates '  —  his  pains  are  all  '  paroxysms ' — talks 
about  the  'foreshadowing  of  events'  —  and  all  his  periods 
are  as  round  and  stately  as  the  march  of  a  Roman  army. 
The  Major  has  actually  made  his  assumed  dignity  pave  his 
way  in  life  —  it  has  given  him  wealth  and  influence  among 
those  who  are  intrinsically  his  superiors,  but  who  do  not  know 
how  to  put  on  the  airs  of  consequence. 

Old  Doctor  Styles  is  living  yet.  He  has  survived  two  or 
three  crops  of  customers  —  helped  them  in  and  out  of  the 
world — balanced  their  accounts — ^and  his  face  is  as  ruddy, 
his  laugh  as  hearty,  his  stories  as  ludicrous,  his  nose  as  full  of 
snuff,  as  though  nothing  melancholy  had  ever  happened  in 
htopractice.  Eighty  odd  and  more,  he  stands  as  straight  as 
a  staff.  Death  has  been  so  long  a  business  with  him,  and  he 
has  stared  it  for  so  many  years  in  the  face,  that  he  really  does 
not  know,  or  care,  how  near  he  is  to  it  himself. 

Crapo  Jackson,  the  sexton,  is  one  of  the  characters.  He 
has  announced  the  end  of  Doctor  Styles'  labor  a  great  many 
hundred  times  through  the  belfry,  and  helped  cover  up  what 
remained.  Crapo  is  black,  but  he  has  a  fine  heart.  He  is 
a  perfect  master  of  his  work.  He  puts  on  an  air  of  melan 
choly  and  circumspection  at  a  funeral,  that  becomes  the 
occasion.  He  sings  from  door  to  door,  a  hymn,  on  Christ- 
10* 


226  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

rnas  mornings,  with  cap  in  hand  extended  for  his  *  quarter 7  — 
peddles  gingerbread  on  training  days  —  and  aids  the  female 
portion  of  the  community  on  festival  occasions,  and  does  a 
great  many  more  things,  '  too  numerous  to  mention.' 

Speaking  of  '  training  days '  —  dear  me  !  —  there  used  to 
be  a  military  spirit  in  this  village,  in  times  past.  I  can  recol 
lect  the  names  of  scores  of  Generals,  Majors,  Colonels,  Cap 
tains,  and  even  Corporals  —  yes,  Corporals  —  every  man 
couldn't  be  corporal  in  those  times.  Why,  bless  your  soul, 
reader,  there  was  General  Peabody,  and  General  Jones,  and 
Major  Goodwin,  and  Major  Boles,  and  any  quantity  of  Colo 
nels.  And  then  'training  day' — nobody  worked  —  the 
village  was  upside  down  — '  'Seventy-six '  was  in  command, 
and  martial  law  declared. 

Major  Boles  I  recollect,  when  in  the  active-  discharge  of 
his  duty.  He  always  grew  serious  as  the  great  militia  mus 
ter  drew  on.  He  went  away  off  by  himself,  into  the  cham 
ber,  where  he  could  be  alone  with  the  spirits  of  his  forefathers, 
and  burnished  up  his  sword,  shook  out  the  dust  from  his 
regimentals  —  warned  his  children  to  stand  out  of  the  way 
—  and  looked  ferociously  at  his  wife.  He  knew  he  was 
Major  Boles,  and  he  knew  every  other  respectable  man 
knew  it.  * 

But  Major-General  Peabody  was  the  greatest  general  / 
ever  saw.  When  a  boy,  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  very  blood 
thirsty  man,  and  nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  go  near 
him.  He  was  a  little  fellow  in  stature,  had  a  hard  round 
paunch,  that  looked  like  an  iron-pot,  and  short,  thick,  drop 
sical  leg>.  (Major  Boles,  who  was  a  little  envious,  said  they 
were  stuffed,  which  produced  a  coldness  between  them,)  his 
face  was  freckled,  and  his  hair  gray.  He  wore  two  massive 
epaulettes,  an  old  revolutionary  cap,  shaped  like  the  moon 
in  its  first  quarter,  from  which  a  white  and  red  feather 


*  TRAINING     DAY.'  227 

curved  over  his  left  ear.  He  had  a  sword  —  and  such  a 
sword !  No  body  dared  touch  it ;  for  it  was  the  General's 
sword ! 

'Training  day'  usually  opened  with  a  boom  from  the 
field-piece,  at  sunrise,  that  shook  the  hills.  About  ten  in  the 
morning,  the  soldiers  began  to  pour  in  from  all  quarters. 
Drums  and  fifes  and  muskets  and  rifles  filed  along  in  confu- 
sion^  —  ambitious  companies  in  uniform  —  common  militia, 
who  were  out  according  to  law.  Uncle  Joe  Billings,  who 
had  played  the  bass-drum  for  more  than  twenty  years,. (poor 
old  man,  he  is  dead  now! )  was  seen  gravely  marching  along, 
all  by  himself,  his  drum  slung  about  his  neck,  his  head  erect, 
his  step  firm,  pushing  on  to  head-quarters,  at  the  measured 
beat  of  his  own  music,  now  and  then  cutting  a  flourish  with 
his  right  hand,  for  the  amusement  of  the  children  who  were 
capering  around  him.  Knots  of  soldiers  gathered  about  the 
tavern,  and  made  a  circle  for  the  music  to  practice,  prepar 
atory  to  the  great  come-off.  Then  came  the  good  old  con 
tinental  tunes  that  were  full  of  fight,  played  by  old  fifers  and 
drummers  that  had  been  through  the  wars ;  men  who  made 
a  solemn  and  earnest  thing  of  martial  music  —  who  rever 
enced  it  as  the  sacred  voice  of  liberty,  not  to  be  trifled  with, 
who  thought  of  Bunker  Hill,  until  the  tears  started  from 

O 

their  eyes.  Those  old  airs,  that  used  to  echo  among  the 
mountains  of  New-England  —  where  are  they  ? 

But  the  captains,  and  colonels,  and  generals  did  not  mix 
with  the  common  soldiers  on  training-day  — no!  nor  speak 
to  them.  Rank  meant  something.  They  felt  as  though 
they  were  out  in  a  war.  They  kept  themselves  covered  from 
the  public  gaze  away  off  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the  tavern, 
and  were  waited  upon  with  great  respect  by  those  of  inferior 
grade.  Sometimes  a  guard  was  stationed  at  the  door,  to 
prevent  a  crowd  upon  their  dignity.  Occasionally,  one  of 


228  PIDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

them  would  bustle  out  among  the  rank  and  file  on  some  mo 
mentous  duty,  fairly  blazing  with  gold  and  silver,  lace  and 
feathers;  but  there  was  never  an  instance  of  one  of  these 
characters  recognizing  even  his  own  brother  while  in  milita 
ry  costume.  Major  Boles  has  often  said  that '  no  officer  can 
be  expected  to  see  small  things  when  in  the  active  discharge 
of  his  duty.' 

At  about  eleven  o'clock,  the  solemn  roll  of  the  drums  was 
heard,  and  loud  voices  of  command  followed ;  and  swords 
flashed,  and  feathers  danced,  in  the  organization  of  the  com 
panies  ;  and  then  came  the  training  —  real  training —  a  mile 
down  street;  a  mile  back  .again ;  a  perfect  roar  of  music; 
and  flags  flying  —  horses  prancing.  What  was  rain,  or  dust, 
or  mud  with  such  an  army  !  They  marched  straight  through 
it ;  it  was  nothing  to  war.  The  sweat  poured  down,  but  the 
army  moved  on  for  hours  and  hours  in  its  terrible  march. 

The  great  sight  of  the  day,  however,  was  the  Major-Gene 
ral  and  his  staff —  I  mean,  of  course,  Major-General  Pea- 
body.  They  were  not  seen  until  about  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon ;  it  being  customary  for  them  to  withdraw  from 
public  observation  the  day  prior  to  the  muster.  When  the 
army  was  drawn  up  in  the  field,  preparatory  to  inspection, 
there  was  usually  a  pause  of  an  hour  —  a  pause  that  was 
deeply  impressive.  We  never  knew  exactly  where  the  Gene 
ral  and  his  staff  were  concealed.  Some  persons  said  they  were 
housed  in  one  place,  some  in  another ;  but,  upon  the  dis 
charge  of  a  cannon,  they  burst  upon  us,  glittering  like  the 
sun,  and  came  cantering  down  the  road  with  perfect  fury,  in 
a  cloud  of  dust,  followed  by  a  score  of  boys  who  were  on  9 
sharp  run  to  *  keep  up.7 

General  Peabody  and  his  staff  always  rushed  headlong 
into  the  field,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  left.  I  recol 
lect  that  on  one  occasion  he  demolished  an  apple-cart,  an4 


MAJOR-GENERAL   PEABODY.  229 

absolutely  turned  every  thing  topsy-turvy,  besides  creating 
great  consternation  among  the  by-standers ;  but  it  did  not 
disturb  him,  and  it  was  only  upon  information  the  next  day 
that  he  knew' that  any  thing  serious  had  happened. 

Passing  the  ruins  of  the  apple-cart,  and  entering  within 
the  guarded  lines,  he  halted,  and  took  a  survey  of  his  troops. 
Then  the  music  saluted  him,  and  the  companies  waved  their 
flags.  He  rode  a  little  nearer,  rose  in  his  stirrups,  jerked 
out  his  sword  spitefully,  and,  looking  ferociously,  cried  out, 
*  Shoulder  arms ! '  This  cry  was  just  as  spitefully  repeated 
by  the  subordinate  officers,  and,  after  a  while,  the  privates, 
one  after  another,  lazily  raised  their  '  pieces '  to  their  shoul 
ders.  The  General  was  in  the  act  of  rising  again,  and  was 
drawing  in  his  breath  for  a  command  of  thunder,  when  his 
horse  wheeled  at  the  report  of  a  musket  that  went  off  in  the 
lines,  and  came  near  upsetting  him,  feathers  and  all ;  but  he 
fell  .into  the  arms  of  one  of  his  aids,  and  —  swore,  as  I  was 
at  the  time  credibly  informed,  though  I  could  hardly  be 
lieve  it. 

The  General  very  soon  righted  himself,  and  striking  his 
horse  several  violent  blows  across  his  rump,  cut  a  great  many 
flourishes  on  the  field,  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  the  look 
ers-on.  He  then  rushed  through  the  orders  of  .the  day  like 
a  mad  man,  and  was  manifestly  utterly  fearless  of  conse 
quences. 

I  hope  my  readers  are  satisfied  that  Major-General  Pea- 
body  was  a  great  military  character.  I  recollect,  when  a 
boy,  that  I  heard  him  say,  *  that  he  was  very  sure  he  would 
be  the  last  man  to  run  in  a  fight '  — '  that  lie  was  afraid  to 
trust  himself  in  a  battle,  for  he  never  could  lay  down  his 
sword  until  the  last  enemy  was  massacred  ! ' 

The  old  man  was  laid  under  the  turf  one  autumnal  after 
noon,  many  years  ago,  but  his  prowess  is  not  forgotten  to 


230  PUDDLEFOIID   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

this  day.  His  son,  Colonel  Aslier  Peabody,  who  inherited 
his  father's  spirit,  erected  a  stately  monument  over  his  re 
mains,  which  was  covered  with  drums,  and  fifes,  and  swords, 
and  waving  banners,  arid  big-mouthed  guns,  intermixed  with 
texts  of  Scripture,  the  virtues  of  the  deceased,  admonitions  to 
the  living,  etc.  This  monument  was  always  as  terrific  to  me 
as  the  General  himself;  and,  in  my  boyish  days,  I  always 
contemplated  it  from  a  distance,  not  knowing  but  that  it 
might  blow  up  a  piece  of  juvenile  impertinence  like  myself 
on  the  spot. 

Yes,  reader,  these  were  training-days  in  New-England ; 
but  the  military  glory  has  now  actually  died  out.  The  last 
gathering  I  saw  I  shall  never  forget.  It  was,  indeed,  a  sorry., 
group,  made  up  of  a  rusty  captain,  two  or  three  faded  cor 
porals,  and  a  handful  of  dare-devil  privates,  who  cared  no 
more  for  their  country  than  so  many  heathen.  The  officers 
looked  cowed  and  heart-broken,  and  loitered  about  in  a  very 
melancholy  way,  and  it  was  evident  that  the  spirit  of  '76 
was  on  its  last  legs.  I  afterwards  learned,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
that  the  captain,  in  a  fit  of  patriotic  rage,  broke  his  sword 
across  his  knee,  and  declared  '  that  he  never  would  turn  out 
again  as  long  as  his  name  was  Jones ! ' 

And,  then,  reader,  this  village  was  full  of  boys  when  I  was 
a  boy.  Every  village  is,  you  say.  Very  likely ;  but  such 
boys;  there  have  never  been  any  thing  like  them  since. 
They  wandered  with  me  Saturday  afternoons  through  the 
meadows,  where  the  lark  was  flitting  and  singing;  and  we 
related  wonderful  stories  about  the  future.  We  cut  red-wil 
low  canes,  made  whistles,  and  dammed  mountain  rivulets. 
Life  opened  to  us  with  a  chant :  it  was  melody,  melody, 
every  where.  There  was  the  mountain-gorge,  down  which 
we  rolled  stones  with  the  voice  of  thunder;  the  'big  rock,' 
in  the  river,  from  which  we  fished ;  the  pond,  that  we 


ALL  THIS  BELONGS  TO  PUDDLEFORD.        231 

thought  had  '  no  bottom  ; '  the  mountain  cliff',  with  its  *  den 
of  snakes : '  where  are  those  boys  now  ?  Every  where  — 
no  where !  Citizens  of  the  world,  some ;  and  some  of  that 
other  world.  They  will  never  be  all  gathered  but  once  more. 

But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  Puddleford?  Much. 
They  are  so  many  pictures  that  I  carry  around  with  me,  and 
they  form  a  part  of  my  existence.  They  color  life,  thought* 
action :  they  mould  the  man :  they  are  continually  inviting 
contrasts,  and  making  suggestions,  and  I  cannot  omit  to  no 
tice  them  in  my  sketch  of  that  famous  village. 

When  I  last  saw  my  native  village  —  it  was  but  a  little 
while  ago  • — it  lay  sleeping  in  its  amphitheatre  as  beautiful 
and  tranquil  as  ever  among  the  shadows  of  its  elms.  It  was 
summer,  and  the  air  was  rich  with  music  and  flowers.  The 
highest  peaks  of  the  mountain  were  draped  in  blue,  and  the 
valley  beneath  was  a  waving  sea  of  green,  down  which  the 
sunshine  chased  the  shade.  The  quail  was  blowing  his  sim 
ple  pipe  among  the  fields  of  grain  ;  the  drone  of  the  locust, 
the  clanging  of  the  mower's  scythe,  and  the  shout  and  the 
song  were  heard  in  the  fields  in  the  still  afternoon.  When 
the  sun  went  down,  and  its  last  flash  leaped  from  the  vane 
on  the  church-steeple  to  a  lofty  mountain-peak,  three  miles 
away,  the  whip-poor-will  began  her  plaintive  song,  and  the 
night-hawks  went  wheeling  through  the  sky.  Then  the 
evening  bells  broke  forth,  and  their  echoes  sobered  the  twi 
light  ;  and,  as  their  last  vibration  expired  along  the  valley, 
the  river  stood  golden  beneath  the  rays  of  the  moon. 


232  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

And  still  New-England  —  Sui  Generis  —  Her  Ruggedness  the  soil 
of  Liberty  —  The  Contrast  —  The  New-England  Conservative  — 
The  New-England  Man  of  Business  —  The  West  has  no  Past  — 
Fast,  and  Hospitable  —  Saxon  Blood  and  Saxon  Spirit. 

SUCH  is  a  picture  of  some  of  the  old-school  New-England 
men,  as  they  flourished  years  ago.  Such  are  some  of  the 
portraits  and  images  that  rise  up,  and  stand  out  vividly  be 
fore  me. 

New-England  is  unlike  any  thing  the  pioneer  sees,  hears,  or 
feels  in  a  wilderness  country.  She  is  unlike  his  country  in 
her  creation.  Her  solemn  mountains,  lone  lakes  —  her  rush 
ing  streams,  that  dart  like  arrows  from  her  precipices  —  the 
roar  of  her  cataracts,  amid  her  ragged  gorges  —  her  long 
and  tranquil  reaches  of  valley  —  the  cold,  solemn,  and  quiet 
pictures  of  Nature  that  she  mingles  and  groups  on  her  can 
vas  give  soul  and  spirit  to  the  people  who  are  nursed  upon 
her  soil ;  and  they,  too,  grow  gigantic,  like  the  objects  around 
them  —  patriotism,  integrity,  firmness,  germinate  and  become 
athletic  in  such  fastnesses:  Liberty  last  expires  upon  the 
mountains. 

Why  was  civil  and  religious  liberty  planted,  amid  Decem 
ber  snows,  upon  her  inhospitable  coast  ?  Why  was  it  com 
mitted  to  her  rugged  elements  of  Nature,  if  not  to  harden 
the  men,  and  strengthen  and  preserve  principles  ?  Had  the 
'  May  Flower '  discharged  its  freight  of  ideas  amid  abundance, 
soft  skies,  and  a  teeming  soil,  it  is  not  certain  that  the  Decla 
ration  would  have  been  signed  in  17*76. 

How  different  is  the  great  west !     One  great  plain  of  prai- 


NEW-ENGLAND.  233 

rie  and  woodland,  reaching  from  zone  to  zone,  fairly  bursting 
with  the  richness  of  its  varied  soil  and  climate  —  reserved,  as 
it  were,  by  Providence,  to  receive  the  less  hardy  and  vigor 
ous  generations,  which  time  might  throw  off  upon  her  — 
tame  in  scenery,  but  filled  with  the  resources  of  wealth  and 
power. 

But  New-England  is  not  only  unlike  the  west  in  its  crea 
tion,  but  her  people,  from  a  thousand  causes,  have  fixed  and 
established  habits  and  customs  as  unlike.  And  all  these 
have  become  as  stereotyped  by  ages,  as  the  figures  upon  a 
panorama.  The  New-England  panorama,  in  all  its  essential 
features,  rolls  off  to-day  as  it  did  years  ago.  Who  has  not 
been  impressed  with  this  truth  ?  Select  an  old  New-Eng 
land  town  —  analyze  it  as  you  once  knew  it,  and  as  it  is  now. 
How  was  it,  how  is  it  made  up  ?  It  was  finished  then  — 
the  last  blow  was  struck,  the  last  foundation  laid,  the  rub 
bish  all  cleared  away ;  as  if  it  only  waited  for  the  final  ex 
plosion  of  all  things  —  even  the  magnificent  elms  that  sol 
emnly  swept  its  streets,  grew  no  longer  —  they,  too,  had 
reached  maturity,  and  gone  to  sleep.  So  it  is  now. 

A  western  village,  in  its  general  aspect,  presents  the  very 
reverse  of  this.  Like  Jonah's  gourd,  it  is  the  "  son  of  a  night." 
It  seems  to  have  been  thrown  up  by  an  army  on  the  march 
—  and  such  is  the  fact —  the  mighty  army  of  pioneers,  who 
are  here  to-day  and  there  to-morrow,  and  who  are  only 
traced  by  such  huge  footsteps. 

The  people  of  a  New-England  village  appear  to  have  been 
procured,  assorted  and  arranged,  for  their  positions  and  oc 
cupations.  Each  person  treads  in  his  own  circle  —  each  is 
stamped  with  a  value  —  branded  good,  bad,  or  indifferent. 
There  is  the  conservative  gentleman  —  the  dash  that  connects 
generations  —  he  who  has  taken  a  preemption  right  to  re 
spectability  —  whose  patent  dates  away  back  among  histori- 


234  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

cal  reminiscences  and  dead  bones  —  whose  presence  is  prima 
facie  evidence  of  all  that  is  claimed  and  exercised.  A 
man  of  authority  is  he.  He  carries  an  odor  of  the  past 
around  with  him  —  an  air  —  a  something  that  smells  of 
blood  — a  consciousness  that  some  time,  or  some  how,  some 
body  or  something  had  given  his  ancestors  a  cross  that  fol 
lowed  and  sublimated  his  whole  race. 

Such  men  impress  a  consequence  upon  objects  around 
them.  Their  family  carriages  look  wise  and  venerable  — 
heir-looms  embalmed  by  generations  gone.  They  drive 
horses  that  think  and  know  who  and  what  they  are  —  and 
who  live  and  die  under  the  protection  of  their  masters. 
Their  church-pews  blaze  in  crimson  —  are  piled  with  cushions, 
arrayed  with  stools,  and  tables,  and  books,  with  two  pillows 
and  a  foot-stove  in  the  corner,  for  the  old  lady  of  seventy, 
who  wheezes  and  takes  snuff.. 

Perhaps,  reader,  you  have  met  just  such  a  New-England 
character.  He  never  moves  below  a  line  in  society  —  a 
line  as  arbitrary  with  him  as  30°  30'.  He  had  a  broad  face, 
double  chin,  heavy  nose,  wide-brimmed  hat,  and  buff  vest, 
filled  with  ruffles.  You  have  heard  him  deliver  his  opinion 
upon  a  question  of  public  policy,  or  public  morals  —  his 
voice  slow  and  sepulchral  —  his  manner  heavy,  almost  me 
lancholy  —  made  impressive  through  the  aid  of  a  gold-headed 
cane,  with  which  he  occasionally  beats  out  the  emphatic 
portions  of  his  homily.  Perhaps  you  attempted  to  make  a 
suggestion  yourself  —  if  you  did,  you  recollect  the  frown, 
the  reproof  that  came  down  upon  you,  from  those  cold,  gray 
eyes  of  his,  and  perhaps  the  shock  you  inflicted  upon  the 
timid  around  you,  from  your  impudence. 

This  class  do  not,  by  any  means,  constitute  the  back -bone 
of  New-England.  The  enterprise  that  breaks  through  her 
mountains,  upheaves  her  valleys,  and  sends  the  iron-horse  on 


CONSERVATIVES.  235 

its  way  —  creates  the  roar  of  machinery  that  reverberates 
among  her  hills  —  grasps  with,  and  battles  for,  the  public 
questions  of  the  day  —  pours  a  tide  of  life  and  energy  into 
every  thing  around  —  which  makes  itself  felt  through  the 
long  arms  of  commerce  in  every  part  of  the  world,  and  whose 
touch  electrifies  every  mart  —  this  enterprise  is  born,  and 
quickened,  and  sustained  some  where  else.  These  men  are 
the  mere  spectators  of  all  this  bustle.  They  are  rather  drag- 
weights  upon  it —  the  acknowledged  conservative  army  of 
*  masterly  inactivity.' 

These  conservatives  are  not  without  value,  but  they  can 
only  exist  in  a  fixed  state  of  society.  They  are  the  work  of 
ages,  and  can  not  be  created  in  a  breath.  No  such  characters 
can  be  found  in  the  western  world.  The  roots  of  such  a 
growth  lie  away  back  among  the  Puritans.  One  can  smell 
Plymouth  Rock,  Cotton  Mather,  Bunker  Hill,  and  indeed 
the  whole  revolutionary  war,  in  the  very  production.  Pedi 
gree  associations,  musty  ideas,  which  lie  scattered  every 
where,  and  yet  nowhere  in  particular,  are  the  foundation  of 
this  kind  of  aristocracy ;  all  of  which  is  submitted  to  by  cus 
tom  and  habit. 

What  if  an  attempt  should  be  made  to,  build  up  such  a 
society  in  a  new  country  ?  Where  would  we  begin  ?  There 
is  no  past  to  hallow  and  dignify  the  present ;  and  without  a 
past  to  draw  upon,  and  anchor  to,  an  aristocracy  would  be 
all  afloat.  The  past  of  Puddleford,  so  far  as  my  researches 
go,  ends  in  the  Pottawatamie  Indians  —  a  little  later  in 
Longbow,  Turtle,  and  Bates.  This  is  the  extent  of  our  re 
sources  ;  and  no  one  has  been  yet  found,  who  was  willing  to 
go  into  that  kind  of  business  on  such  a  capital.  Money,  so 
often  the  foundation  of  pretension,  is  widely  diffused,  in  very 
small  parcels.  Historical  local  incidents  there  are  none. 
The  conquest  of  the  country  was  by  the  axe  and  an  indom- 


236  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

itable  spirit.  There  was  no  blood  nor  brimstone  used.  The 
pioneer's  little  family  of  sinewy  children,  was  the  army  that 
entered  it,  and  took  possession  of  the  soil. 

But  the  people  of  New-England,  I  said,  were  assorted. 
The  man  of  business,  the  merchant,  the  mechanic,  was  a 
merchant,  a  mechanic,  in  the  same  place,  the  same  building, 
perhaps  forty  years  ago  —  and  his  whole  life  is  one  of  order 
and  system.  He  lives  by  rule  —  is  as  fixed  in  his  sphere  as 
the  conservative  in  his.  His  income  for  the  future  can  be 
calculated  from  the  past.  His  duties  are  foreseen  and  pro 
vided  for.  Domestic  expenses  so  much ;  support  of  the  Gospel 
so  much  ;  charity  so  much  ;  pleasure  so  much ;  —  which, 
deducted  from  income,  balance,  so  much.  Here,  again,  is 
the  fruit  of  a  fixed  society.  The  creditor  of  a  New-England 
merchant  knows  where  his  customer  will  be  next  year  —  at 
his  old  post,  or  dead. 

How  is  it  in  a  new  country  ?  Not  one  resident  in  ten  is 
permanently  located.  Every  man  expects  to  remove  some 
where  else,  at  some  time.  Here  is  no  association,  no  tie,  to 
bind  him  to  the  soil.  The  pioneer  is  but  a  passenger,  who 
has  stopped  over  night,  as  it  were,  and  he  holds  himself  ready 
to  push  forward,  at  the  blow  of  the  trumpet.  Villages,  and 
even  whole  townships,  change  inhabitants  in  short  periods, 
and  other  men,  with  other  views  and  habits,  step  in  and  take 
their  places.  Where  does  the  merchant  creditor  find  his 
western  customer  of  last  year  ?  Sold  out,  perhaps,  to  Mr. 
A.,  and  Mr.  A.  sold  to  Mr.  B.,  and  Mr.  B.  to  Mr.  C.  Mr. 
C.  pays  all  arrearages,  and  Mr.  A.  and  B.  are  boating  on  the 
Mississippi,  or  '  ballooning'  in  some  fancy  speculation  on  the 
north  shore  of  the  Oregon. 

While  the  great  west  suffers  from  a  want  of  the  virtues 
that  attend  a  fixed  society,  as  it  undoubtedly  does,  it  does 
not  find  itself  obliged  to  contend  against  its  prejudices. 


CONTRASTS.  237 

There  are  no  arbitrary  lines  drawn,  based  upon  mere  ideas 
—  no  venerable  fictions  in  the  way.  Custom,  habit,  society, 
immemorial  usage,  hang  no  dead-weights  upon  the  young 
and  ambitious.  All  start  from  the  same  line,  the  prize  is 
aloft  in  full  view,  and  he  who  first  reaches  it,  creates  his  own 
precedence. 

If  there  is  no  past  to  hallow  and  chasten  the  people  of  a 
new  country,  no  permanent  present  to  hold  them  to  one  spot, 
so  in  one  sense,  there  is  no  future.  There  is  no  locality  that 
is  adorned  and  beautified  for  coming  years  —  no  spot  desig 
nated  to  become  venerable  to  posterity  —  no  tree  nursed  and 
protected  in  memory  of  him  who  planted  it  —  no  ground 
consecrated  for  the  burial  of  the  dead.  Houses  are  built, 
localities  adorned,  trees  planted,  cemeteries  erected,  but  they 
who  fashioned  all  this,  do  not  abide  with  them  —  they  are 
ever  on  the  march,  and  the  stranger  takes  possession  of  tho 
memorials  they  leave  behind ;  and  if  posterity  should  at 
tempt  to  collect  the  works  of  such  an  ancestor,  it  would  find 
them  scattered  over  the  circuit  of  States. 

We  have  attempted,  in  a  plain  way,  to  draw  a  comparison, 
very  briefly  to  be  sure,  between  a  fixed  and  an  un-fixed  so 
ciety.'  Both  have  their  advantages,  and  their  disadvantages. 

If  New-England  is  slow  and  methodical,  she  is  strong. 
She  moves  in  close  phalanx  upon  any  public  question  or 
duty.  The  very  bonds  of  habit  which  pervade  all,  and  all 
alike,  concentrate  and  intensify  her  action.  Her  people  act 
in  a  mass  toward  one  point.  They  strike  through  organiza 
tions  which  are  gigantic  and  reverend  with  age.  The  Church 
gathers  the  energies  and  means  of  the  benevolent.  Public 
opinion  is  harmonious  about  public  ends.  And  this  very 
fixedness  of  society  enables  its  members  to  push  forward 
with  a  unity  and  strength  almost  omnipotent. 

In  a  new  country,  as  we  have  seen,  action  is  individual 


238  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

and  ends  are  individual.  Men  are  unorganized.  He  who 
goes  forward  with  axe  in  hand  to  hew  his  pathway  to  com 
petence  and  respectability,  is  governed  by  few  relics  of  the 
past.  He  breaks  away,  in  time,  (too  completely,  perhaps,) 
from  old  associations,  some  of  which  were  trammels,  being 
the  mere  result  of  usage,  and  some  of  which  he  ought  to 
cherish  for  their  intrinsic  excellence.  He  looks  forward  to  a 
country  and  people  in  the  future,  (some  where  in  the  future  ; 
locality  is  nothing,)  and  he  hurries  on,  with  fury  almost,  to 
reach  the  destination  of  his  dreams. 

The  people  of  the  West  are  called  a  fast  people.  How 
can  they  be  otherwise  ?  Their  very  necessities  drive  them. 
They  can  not  fall  back  upon  any  prop ;  they  can  move  on 
ward  without  limit.  It  required,  half  a  century  ago,  the 
labor  of  a  generation  to  sweep  off  the  forest,  and  plant  cities 
and  villages  —  but  all  this  is  accomplished  in  half  of  that 
time  now.  Pioneers  grow  more  expanded  in  their  views. 
The  father  of  the  pioneer  of  to-day,  grew  into  consequence 
as  a  heavy  landed  proprietor,  upon  a  farm  of  forty  acres  — 
his  son  can  hardly  satisfy  his  ambition  with  six  hundred  — 
and  that  is  always  for  sale  —  (there  is  no  poetry,  as  we  have 
seen,  about  a  western  homestead)  —  and  he  stands  ready  to 
vacate  upon  six  month's  notice  and  a  consideration. 

This  miscellaneous  state  of  society  begets  a  peculiar  hos 
pitality.  New-England  has  been  famed  for  its  hospitality, 
but  the  kind  I  mean,  is  a  very  different  thing.  Hospitality 
in  an  old  country,  under  the  bonds  of  society,  is  too  formal, 
too  cold,  and  sometimes  a  little  oppressive.  It  is  not  always 
hospitality;  it  is,  sometimes,  the  performance  of  a  social 
duty,  according  to  the  rules  and  regulations  prescribed  for  its 
observance  —  painful  to  all  parties  concerned.  It  is  artificial 
—  as  hearty,  perhap>,  as  it  can  be  under  '  bond>.'  The 
table,  in  the  West,  is  always  spread,  and  the  roof  always 


WESTERN   SOCIETY.  239 

offers  shelter.  There  is  an  ease,  an  abandonment  in  its  exer 
cise,  that  is  positively  beautiful,  and  can  be  understood  only 
when  felt. 

A  fixed  state  of  society  begets  feuds,  and  cherishes  old 
grudges.  A  quarrel  that  originated  between  grandfathers, 
is  often  carried  down  and  kept  brewing.  Families  are  divid 
ed  from  other  families  for  years,  and  sometimes  for  gene 
rations,  about  matters  of  no  consequence.  It  is  perhaps  a 
point  of  etiquette,  a  stinging  remark,  an  accidental  or  pre 
meditated  slight,  a  question  of  dollars  and  cents,  a  political 
or  religious  difference  of  opinion,  that  opened  the  breach 
which  will  not  be  healed.  Thus,  bomb-shells  are  often 
thrown  from  one  to  another,  by  fathers  and  children  and 
grand-children,  and  families  kept  in  an  uproar  about  nothing 
This  society  not  only  cherishes  old  grudges,  but  it  is  nervous 
and  sensitive  to  the  least  touch  of  the  present.  A  morbid 
pride  of  wealth,  family,  position,  is  ever  on  the  look-out  for 
an  attack  upon  its  consequence  —  perhaps  to  make  an  on 
slaught  upon  others. 

Here  the  West  has  the  advantage.  There  is  no  one  to 
keep  alive  old  grudges.  Not  one  man  in  a  hundred  can  tell 
what  his  neighbor's  father  or  grand-father  was  —  where  he 
flourished  or  decayed  —  what  were  his  personal  piques  or 
social  battles.  And  as  for  present  causes  of  personal  war, 
they  are  few  —  it  requires  something  more  than  a  sublimated 
idea  or  notion  —  an  antiquated  figment  of  the  brain  01 
present  artificiality  —  to  warm  up  the  combatants.  The 
practical  realities  of  the  West  are  too  great  and  pressing  to 
give  time  or  disposition  to  dally  with  abstractions.  Gross 
outrages  are  quickly  met  and  redressed  —  they  are  not  car 
ried  down  on  the  docket  of  time  for  posterity  to  try,  nor 
nursed  in  the  bosom,  from  the  revengeful  pleasure  they 
afford. 


240  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

Reader,  these  are  a  few  of  the  advantages  and  disadvanta 
ges  of  the  two  states  of  eastern  and  western  society  —  not 
western  society,  after  it  becomes  rooted  and  established,  as  it 
has  in  many  of  the  States  —  but  during  its  first  ten,  perhaps 
twenty  years,  in  its  green  state,  while  the  gristle  is  harden 
ing  into  bone. 

These  few  suggestions  are  written  in  no  morbid  or  carping 
spirit.  They  are  written  with  a  consciousness  of  the  manly 
virtues,  and  solid  worth,  of  New-England,  as  she  is,  and 
always  has  been.  They  simply  mark  points  of  difference, 
worked  upon  men  by  a  change  of  soil  and  society  —  points 
that  should  be  known,  whether  approved  or  condemned. 
What  son  of  New-England  does  not  look  back  upon  her 
with  pride  ?  What  associations  throng  around  him  when 
her  name  is  mentioned  !  Her  hills,  her  hearths,  her  homes, 
send  a  thrill  through  the  soul,  and  make  him,  for  a  time,  at 
least,  a  better  man.  What  armies  of  scholars  have  walked 
forth  into  the  battle  of  life  from  her  cloisters  ?  How  many 
have  been  girded  and  helmeted  in  her  halls !  Where  is 
the  spot  where  her  footsteps  are  not  imprinted,  her  cheering 
voice  heard  ?  Shall  we  ever  forget  her  ?  What  sermons 
her  old  homesteads  are  continually  preaching  to  her  children, 
scattered,  as  they  are,  throughout  every  degree  of  latitude 
and  longitude,  in  all  positions  and  avocations !  The  cold 
brooks,  where  the  trout  darted — the  grove  where  the  nuts 
dropped  —  the  blue  sublimity  of  her  mountain-tops,  where 
sunlight  first  broke  in  the  morn,  and  last  died  at  night  — 
the  great  shadows  that  slept  in  her  valleys  —  the  reverbera 
tion  of  her  thunder  —  her  "solemn  fasts  and  feasts"  — her 
day  of  Thanksgiving,  that  united  again  the  broken  fragments 
of  the  family  circle  —  the  merry  voice  of  Christmas,  that 
rung  so  cheerily  through  her  halls  —  her  graves,  that  hold 
all  that  remains  of  those  who  were  giants  in  religion,  liberty, 


INFLUENCE    OF    NEW-ENGLAND.  241 

and  law,  ami  who  **  although  dead,  }'«t  speak"  —  her  arts 
—  her  monuments  —  her  altars,  where  generations  haw, 
knelt  and  passed  away  —  are  all  living  eloquence  to  her  child 
ren,  and  can  never  be  forgotten,  if  not  always  remembered. 
She  is  the  Mecca  to  which  many  a  weary  pilgrim  turns  for 
strength  and  counsel,  in  the  storm  and  bustle  of  life,  and  her 
brain,  and  her  capital,  and  her  example,  are  felt  throughout 
half  the  globe. 

Let  us  not,  however,  in  our  veneration  for  New-England, 
forget  the  iron-souled  and  true-hearted  men,  who  have  gone 
forth  from  that  ancient  hive,  to  make  a  way  in  the  wilder 
ness  for  incoming  generation*,  whose  march  is  ever  upon  the 
<3ar.  They  had  their  mission,  too^and  nobly  have  they  per 
formed  it.  What  but  Saxon  blood,  and  Saxon  spirit,  could 
have  accomplished  so  much?  If  it  was,  and  still  is,  done 
roughly,  it  was  all  done  for  time,  and  will  stand  —  it  is  some 
thing  that  will  bear  looking  back  upon,  and  of  which  no  son 
of  posterity  will  be  ashamed. 


242  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Spring  at  the  West  —  'Sugar  Days ' — Performances  of  the  Cattle  — 
April — Advent  of  the  Blue- Jays  and  the  Crows  —  The  Blue-birds, 
Phebes,  and  Robins  —  April,  and  its  Inspiring  Days  —  The  Frogs, 
and  their  Concerts  —  Gophers,  Squirrels,  Ants;  Swallows,  Brown- 
Threshers,  and  Blackbirds  —  The  Swallows,  the  Martins,  and  the 
Advent  of  May. 

SPRING  opens  in  the  western  wilds  with  great  pomp  and 
beauty.  After  our  winter  had  passed,  accompanied  with 
few  out-door  amusements,  how  inspiring  were  her  first  foot 
steps  !  February  slowly  gave  way  to  March,  the  sun  each 
day  rolled  higher  and  higher,  and  the  heavens  grew  bluer 
and  bluer.  Then  came  the  still,  clear,  cold  nights,  when  the 
stars  flashed  like  diamonds,  and  the  still,  warm  days,  that 
flooded  the  lakes  and  streams.  Here  and  there,  a  bird  would 
appear  —  one  of  the  more  hardy  sort  —  a  kind  of  courier, 
that  had  been  sent  out  by  his  fellows,  lonely,  like  the  dove 
from  the  ark,  to  spy  out  the  land,  and  report  its  condition. 
These  couriers,  who  I  supposed  were  birds  that  were  with 
us  the  preceding  year,  rummaged  around  the  woods,  like  a 
family  who  had  just  returned  to  a  long  deserted  mansion. 
They  flew  from  tree  to  tree,  eyed  the  knot-holes,  examined 
every  thing,  shivered  a  few  nights  on  a  snowy  limb,  and  then 
hurried  back  to  make  their  report.  The  outside  birds  who 
were  thus  represented,  and  who  were  so  anxious  to  '  come 
on,'  were  like  a  press  at  the  theatre,  before  the  hour  had 
arrived  to  hoist  the  curtain. 

These  March   days,  were  '  sugar  days.'     Puddleford  was 


THE    SUGAR-BUSH.  243 

of  course  in  confusion ;  men,  women,  and  children  turned 
out  with  kettles  and  pans,  into  the  *  bush  ; '  and  one  would 
have  supposed  from  the  clouds  of  smoke  that  rolled  over 
the  tops  of  the  trees,  that  a  tribe  of  gypsies  had  camped 
there.  The  girls,  dressed  in  linsey-woolsey,  were  boisterous  ; 
the  boys,  uproarious ;  and  a  whole  army  of  dogs,  full  of 
the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  stormed  around,  barking  at  every 
deer-track,  and  tore  all  the  rotten  logs  in  pieces.  Then  came 
a  long,  warm,  still  rain  —  and  the  frogs  shouted  to  each 
other  their  melancholy  music  —  and  the  grass  and  the  roots 
that  were  soaking  in  the  marshes,  sent  out  their  sweetness  — 
the  bud  began  to  swell  on  the  willow  —  the  geese  gathered 
in  a  procession,  with  some  pompous  gander  at  its  head,  and 
marched  to  the  river —  and  the  barn-yard  fowls  climbed  up 
into  trees,  on  top  of  the  sheds  and  stacks,  and  cackled,  and 
crowed,  and  clucked,  and  chatted  together,  like  so  many 
guests  at  a  party. 

The  cattle  congregated,  and  wandered  away  off  to  an  open 
plain,  and  went  through  certain  exercises,  the  significance  of 
which  was  known  only  to  themselves.  One  old  cow  of  mine 
whose  reputation  was  good,  and  whose  frosty  bones  had 
scarcely  moved  during  the  winter,  and  who  was  present  at 
this  celebration,  suddenly  wheeled  out  of  the  ranks,  rolled 
her  tail  over  her  back,  put  herself  on  a  circuitous  canter, 
cutting  as  many  capers  as  a  French  dancing-master,  and 
brought  up,  at  last,  with  a  bellowing  blast,  that  was  quite 
terrific. 

At  a  distance  stood  another  of  the  herd,  frothing  at  the 
mouth,  lashing  herself  with  her  tail,  and  throwing  clouds  of 
sand  on  high,  with  her  fore-feet.  Away,  in  another  quarter, 
were  a  couple  of  very  thoughtful  looking  animals,  fencing 
with  their  horns.  Every  little  while,  some  good  or  evil 
spirit  would  take  possession  of  them,  and  the  whole  com- 


244  PUDDLEFORD    AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

pany  would  fling  their  tails  aloft,  and  with  a  great  noise,  go 
off  in  a  stampede  that  made  the  ground  tremble. 

As  April  'approached,  or  rather  the  reflected  light  from 
her  distant  wheels,  the  voice  of  the  birds  changed  into  a 
mellower  tone.  The  blue-jay,  whose  harsh  scream  had  so 
long  grated  on  my  ear,  grew  softer,  and  he  blew  once  in  a 
while,  one  of  his  spring  pipes,  (for  he  is  a  great  imitator, 
and  has  many,)  which,  after  all,  sounded  rather  husky,  and 
winter-like.  His  heart  grew  warmer,  too.  He  would  sit  on 
a  dry  tree  close  to  the  eaves  of  my  house,  and  peer  through 
the  windows,  to  see  what  was  going  on  inside,  jump  down, 
and  bow  himself  up  on  the  door-steps,  to  remind  us,  in 
the  best  way  he  could,  of  the  sunshine  outside. 

Soon  the  crows  began  to  sweep  solemnly  through  the  air 
with  their  caw!  caw!  They  sailed  round  and  round,  now 
lighting  on  some  tree,  now  on  the  ground,  then  away  they 
went  into  the  heavens  again.  They  seemed  to  be  taking  a 
very  thorough  examination  of  the  premises,  making  out  the 
lines  of  occupation,  and  acquiring  a  new  possession  of  the 
same,  for  the  use  of  themselves  and  those  they  represented. 
Sometimes  a  body  of  them  lazily  winging  their  way  over  my 
house,  and  looking  down  from  their  height  upon  my  dimin 
utive  form,  would  shower  upon  my  head  ten  thousand  Ccfs! 
as  if  in  utter  contempt  of  both  me  and  mine.  I  occasion 
ally  fired  a  shot  at  them,  and  the  only  answer  I  got,  was  a 
quick  lCa-Ca  /'  as  much  as  to  say  :  '  Try  it  again !  Try  it 
again !  Who  cares ! ' 

Then  came  the  blue-bird.  I  threw  up  my  window  amid 
the  latter  days  of  March,  one  sunshiny  morning,  and  there 
she  sat,  on  a  maple,  blowing  her  flute.  Banks  of  snow  were 
scattered  here  and  there,  but  the  ground  smelt  moist  and 
spring-like.  Where  did  that  little  piece  of  melody  come 
from  ?  Where  was  she,  the  day  before  ?  Her  song  was  a 


BIRDS    '  CLEANING    HOUSE.  245 

little  poem  about  south-west  winds,  and  violets,  and  running 
brooks  —  perhaps  she  was  a  preacher,  sent  out  by  the  daisies 
to  herald  their  coming— -perhaps  her  song  was  only  a 
prayer  —  for  she  went  round,  from  place  to  place,  on  this 
tree  and  that,  in  her  little  cathedral,  as  priests  do  in  theirs, 
and  erected  her  altar,  and  made  her  offering.  She  had  a 
great  deal  to  say,  and  a  great  many  persons  and  things  to 
deliver  her  message  to ;  for  in  a  little  while  she  went,  rising 
and  foiling  as  though  she  were  riding  billows  of  air,  to  the 
roof  of  my  neighbor's  house,  where  she  sang  the  same  song 
again ;  and  after  thus  spending  an  hour  or  two  about  the 
neighborhood,  she  crossed  the  river,  and  clashed  into  the 
woods. 

On  the  next  morning,  the  blue-bird  came  again,  and 
brought  a  phebe  with  him,  and  they  two  sang  a  kind  of 
duet  for  my  benefit.  Their  harmony  was  perfect  —  for 
1  there  is  no  discord  in  nature.'  On  the  following  day,  at 
dawn,  before  the  sun  arose,  I  heard  the  robin  rolling  off 
her  mellow  notes.  I  looked  out  and  saw  a  little  flock  run 
ning  along  on  the  ground,  and  picking  at  the  fresh  earth, 
evidently  for  the  purpose  of  determining  its  condition.  This 
same  flock,  I  am  sure,  remained  upon  my  premises  during 
the  summer,  and  had,  in  fact,  possession  of  them  for  many 
years  previous.  For  they  appeared  every  day  or  two,  and 
grew  more  and  more  inquisitive,  and  examined  more  closely. 
A  couple  finally  took  possession  of  this  tree,  and  a  couple 
of  that.  They  commenced  '  cleaning  house.'  They  flitted 
about  from  limb  to  limb,  balanced  themselves  on  the  dry 
twigs,  as  if  trying  their  strength  and  elasticity,  ran  them 
selves  away  down  into  the  joints,  and  dissected  the  crotches, 
picked  up  and  cast  away  the  dead  moss  and  leaves,  and  made 
as  much  bustle  and  stir  as  a  woman  on  May-day. 

As  I  was  watching  a  couple  of  them,  one  day,  while  they 


246  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

were  busy  at  work,  they  seemed  quite  annoyed  at  my  pre 
sence.  They  flirted  off  from  the  tree  to  a  fence  near  by, 
with  a  mellow  cry  —  saying,  plainly  enough,  as  they  bobbed 
around,  *  What !  what!'  'Any-thing-wrong?  Any-thing- 
wrong  ? '  '  Please-go-away  —  ha-ha-please-go-away.' 

Some  four  weeks  later,  these  birds  began  to  build.  They 
went  sailing  through  the  air  with  the  timbers  of  their  castle 
in  their  mouths.  This  timber  was  selected  with  great  care. 
Straw  after  straw,  and  sprig  after  sprig  was  picked  up  and 
cast  away  before  the  right  one  was  found.  They  remained 
with  me  during  their  stay  north,  and  returned  each  succeed 
ing  year  to  the  same  tree,  until  the  woods  all  about  me  were 
felled,  when  they  deserted  me  for  other  quarters. 

April  shone  out  at  last.  Away  down  in  the  wild  mea 
dows,  the  cowslip  pushed  up  its  green  head  into  the  sunshine, 
and  along  the  warm  hill-sides  the  wind-flowers  were  strown. 
How  they  came  there,  I  cannot  tell.  The  day  before,  it  was 
all  bleak,  and  chilly,  and  flowerless  there.  They  must  have 
been  scattered  by  the  morning  rays  of  light.  A  melting 
bank  of  snow  frowned  down  upon  them,  close  by.  Soon 
the  shade-tree  sent  out  its  blossoms  of  lilac,  and  the  dog 
wood  burst  into  a  pile  of  snow.  The  hard,  gray,  leafless 
trees  stood  up  sternly  around  these  first  daughters  of  spring, 
arrayed  in  their  garments  of  pomp,  and  looked,  as  well  as 
inanimate  things  can  look,  jealous  and  uneasy.  All  over 
the  aisles  of  the  forest  lay  enormous  trunks  of  trees,  like 
columns  about  an  unfinished  temple,  thickly  coated  with  a 
heavy  green  moss ;  and  there  was  a  smell  of  bark,  and 
swelling  twigs,  and  struggling  roots  —  such  a  smell  as  only 
the  early  spring  days  give  out  —  as  though  the  earth  and  the 
forest  were  just  gaping  and  stretching  with  a  decayed  last 
year's  breath,  before  rousing  up  to  the  duties  of  this. 

Then  the  rivulets  began  to  get  into  tune.     The  one  that 


WHAt    WAS   VENISON    DREAMING    OF?  247 

hin  tumbling  through  the  woods  seemed  to  be  in  a  very 
great  hurry,  and  shot  around  its  islands  of  moss  and  promon 
tories  of  tree-roots  with  great  zeal.  It  had  unwound  from  its 
reel  of  light  and  moisture  a  green  ribbon,  that  lay  along  its 
shores  miles  and  miles  away  in  the  wilderness ;  and  the  birds 
slily  bathed  themselves  in  its  waters ;  and,  now  and  then,  a 
small  fish  came  rushing  down  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow, 
just  returning  from  his  winter  quarters  to  the  river,  probably 
to  enter  his  name  upon  the  great  piscatorial  roll  preparatory 
to  summer  service. 

In  a  basin,  just  below  a  little  fall  of  this  brook,  two  or 
three  wood-ducks  were  ploughing  round  and  round.  These 
wood-ducks  are  hermits,  and  secrete  themselves  in  ponds  and 
watery  thickets,  where  silence  and  shadows  prevail.  On  one 
of  these  mornings,  ruminating  on  its  banks,  sat  Venison 
Styles,  his  gun  resting  on  the  ground,  apparently  in  a  pro 
found  study.  I  looked  at  the  old  hunter  a  long  time,  and 
his  figure  was  as  fixed  and  immovable  as  if  he  were  a  part 
of  the  landscape,  and  had  grown  there  like  the  trees  about 
him.  What  can  the  old  man  be  dreaming  about?  thought 
I.  Perhaps  he  already  hears  the  approaching  footsteps  of 
dancing  May,  her  head  crowned  with  flowers,  and  the  music 
of  the  thousand  birds  that  supported  her  train.  It  was  al 
ready  spring  —  summer  —  in  his  soul.  He  was  thinking  of 
the  sports  of  ihe  coming  year,  and  the  light  and  pomp  of 
the  seasons  passed  before  his  imagination,  like  the  gorgeous 
pictures  of  a  panorama. 

These  April  days  were  inspiring.  Occasionally,  a  bleak 
squall  of  rain  or  snow  obscured  the  sky,  and  silenced  the 
music  of  nature ;  but  the  heavens  looked  bluer,  and  the  birds 
sang  more  lustily,  after  it  passed  away.  In  the  latter  part 
of  the  month  the  ground  became  settled,  and  the  frogs  to 
ward  evening,  and  sometimes  during  the  moist,  smoky  af- 


248  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

ternoons,  sent  up  their  melancholy  wailing  from  the  wide 
wastes  of  marsh  that  stretched  themselves  through  the  woods 
and  along  the  river  banks.  Some  of  these  marshes  were  ten 
miles  long,  and  two  or  three  broad,  and  such  a  concert  of 
voices  as  congregated  there  was  never  equalled  by  any 
thing  else.  I  had,  and  still  have,  notions  of  my  own  about 
these  vocalists.  I  am  sure  that  they  sang  under  discipline 
and  system  —  that  they  performed  on  different  kinds  of  in 
struments.  Some  of  them  seemed  to  be  blowing  a  flageolet; 
others  drew  their  bows  across  their  violins ;  some  played  the 
fife ;  while,  here  and  there,  might  be  heard  gram  twangs, 
like  the  twanging  of  bass-viol  strings.  He  who  listened  long 
and  closely  might  detect  delicate  vibrations  of  almost  every 
tone  in  art  or  nature.  Sometimes  their  voices  sounded  like 
the  dying  echoes  of  ten  thousand  bells,  all  of  a  different  key, 
yet  the  tangled  melody  was  an  entanglement  of  chords  and 
discords,  and  it  rolled  away  and  expired  in  waves  of  pure 
harmony  :  again,  it  was  like  a  choir  of  human  voices  per 
forming  an  anthem.  I  thought  I  could  hear  syllables,  too  — 
the  articulation  of  words  —  something  like  a  psalm.  Then 
the  words  and  sounds  appeared  to  change,  and,  by  the  aid 
of  the  imagination,  one  would  have  supposed  that  the  whole 
community  were  shouting  —  delivering  political  harangues 
—  or  that  its  members  had  got  on  a  '  bust,'  and  were  rattling 
off  all  kinds  of  nonsense  in  a  drunken  frolic,. 

April  brought  with  it,  too,  flying  showers  and  warm  sun 
shine.  The  grass  began  to  wake  up,  and  scent  the  air  with 
its  sweetness.  Along  the  water-courses  the  willows  unfolded 
their  leaves ;  the  buds  swelled  in  the  forests ;  and  the  tree> 
tops  were  touched  with  a  light  shade  of  brown,  and  then  a 
shade  of  green,  which  grew  deeper  and  deeper  each  day. 
Large  flocks  of  pigeons  darkened  the  air,  all  moving  from 
south  to  north,  from  whence,  or  to  where,  I  could  not  telL 


THE    ANTS,    AND    THEIR    LABORS.  249 

A  company  would  sometimes  *  hold  up '  for  an  hour  or  two, 
to  '  feed  and  rest,'  like  a  caravan  at  an  oasis ;  but  they  soon 
took  their  wings  again,  and  pursued  their  journey. 

The  tenants  of  the  ground  burst  their  tombs,  and  came  up 
for  duty.  The  gopher,  and  squirrel,  and  the  ant  went  to 
work.  I  noticed  a  large  community  of  ants  who  had  com 
menced  building  a  city.  Their  last  year's  metropolis  was 
destroyed,  and  they  were  compelled  to  begin  from  the  foun 
dation,  and  such  a  stir  and  bustle  was  never  exceeded.  Hun 
dreds  of  laborers  were  in  the  work  up  to  their  eyes.  Here 
was  one  fellow  with  a  grain  of  sand  in  his  mouth  —  a  rock 
to  him,  I  suppose  —  climbing  over  twigs  and  dead  grass, 
standing  sometimes  perpendicular  with  his  load,  and  not  un- 
frequently  falling  over  backwards,  yet  struggling  away,  sur 
mounting  all  obstacles,  until  he  finally  reached  the  place  of 
deposit.  Then  there  was  a  class  of  miners  who  shot  up  from 
their  holes,  dropped  their  speck  of  dirt,  wheeled,  and  shot 
back  again.  Trains  of  them  were  continually  ascending  and 
descending.  There  was  still  another  class  —  *  blooded  cha 
racters,'  most  likely  —  possibly  overseers  —  who  did  not  do 
any  work,  but  ran  around  from  point  to  point,  as  if  in 
specting  the  re.>t,  and  giving  to  them  directions.  Once  in  a 
while  a  couple  of  workmen  would  run  a-foul  of  each  other, 
and  get  into  a  quarrel  —  a  clinch  —  a  fight  —  and  the  '  tus 
sle'  lasted  until  they  were  parted.  This  colony,  I  will  say, 
erected  a  large  mound  of  earth  in  a  very  few  weeks  —  gi 
gantic  to  them  as  an  Egyptian  pyramid  is  to  us  —  in  which 
they  lived  and  labored  during  the  season. 

Finally,  the  swallows,  and  brown  threshers,  and  blackbirds, 
and  martins  came  —  not  all  in  a  body,  but  straggling  along. 
The  blackbirds  appeared  first,  and  might  be  seen  flying 
about  from  tree  to  tree,  and  fence  to  fence,  near  by  the  up 
turned  furrows  that  the  ploughman  had  left  behind  him. 
11* 


250  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

Such  a  saucy  troop  of  pirates  as  they  were  !  Flocks  of  them 
sat  about  in  the  oaks,  showering  a  host  of  epithets  upon  the 
said  ploughman ;  then  a  dozen  or  more  darted  down,  stag 
gered  over  the  ground,  picked  up  a  worm,  and  dashed  away 
into  the  oaks  again.  They  scolded,  and  fretted,  and  coaxed, 
and  threatened,  and  nettled  about  like  a  belle  of  sixteen. 
Some  of  them  were  dressed  in  a  suit  of  glossy  black,  with  a 
neck-cloth  of  shifting  green ;  others  wore  red  epaulettes  on 
their  wings,  and  a  flock  of  them,  darting  through  the  air, 
had  the  appearance  of  braided  streams  of  fire,  or  interlaced 
rainbows.  Toward  evening,  they  all  went  down  among  the 
alders  and  willows  by  the  river,  and  had  a  long  chat  among 
themselves.  They  bowed,  and  twitched,  and  stretched  down 
one  wing,  and  then  the  other ;  lit  upon  the  little  twigs,  and 
see-sawed  as  they  sung,  and  did  many  other  things.  They 
were  evidently  erecting  themselves  into  some  kind  of  a  go 
vernment  for  the  year  —  holding  a  caucus  —  perhaps  an  elec 
tion  —  deposing  an  old  monarch,  or  elevating  a  new  ;  for  it 
was  easy  to  hear  them  say  what  they  would  do,  and  what 
they  wouldn't  —  that  is,  easy  for  one  who. has  studied  the 
blackbird  language  —  and  sometimes  an  awful  threat  might 
be  detected,  mixed  with  a  great  many  wheedling  words  and 
gracjous  postures. 

The  brown-threshers  came  next,  and  they  were  just  as  full 
of  chatter  and  life  as  they  were  the  year  before.  Birds 
never  grow  old,  it  seems  to  me,  nor  have  I  eyer  been  able  to 
determine  when  or  where  they,  die.  The  hunter  kills  but  a 
very  few,  and  those  few  of  a  certain  kind.  What  becomes 
of  the  rest  ?  They  breed  every  spring  in  great  numbers ; 
but  how,  when,  and  where  do  they  die  ?  We  do  not  find 
dead  birds  in  the  woods ;  at  any  rate,  very  few.  Yes,  the 
brown-threshers  were  as  young  as  ever.  They  looked  very 
shabby  and  mussed  when  I  last  saw  them  in  the  fall ;  but 


MAY. 


251 


now  their  brown  clothes  shone  as  cleanly  as  a  Quaker-girl's 
shawl.  They  took  up  Nature's  music-book,  and  rattled  off  all 
the  songs,  and  glees,  and  anthems  in  it  —  very  often  making 
a  medley  of  it,  mixing  the  notes  of  the  birds  that  were  chant 
ing  around  all  together  — and  they  often  closed  the  perform 
ance  with  an  original  strain  of  their  own,  composed  on  the 
spot. 

When  the  swallows  and  the  martins  came,  I  knew  that 
spring  was  fully  established.  They  appeared  suddenly  dur 
ing  the  night ;  for  when  the  May  sun  arose,  they  were  twit 
tering  and  wheeling  through  the  air,  shooting  up  and  plung 
ing  down  in  a  kind  of  delicious  rapture.  Their  music  was 
set  on  the  staff  of  blue  skies,  south-west  winds,  and  flowers. 
There  was  not  a  note  of  winter  in  it.  The  woods,  and 
streams,  and  fields  seemed  to  have  been  waiting  for  their 
melody,  for  all  nature  went  to  work,  and  was  soon  clad  in 
beauty,  and  light,  and  song. 


252  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  Railroad  through  Puddleford  —  Effect  on  Squire  Longbow — Bright 
Prospects  of  Puddleford  —  Change  —  '  The  Styleses '  •— The  New 
Justice  —  Aunt  Sonora's  Opinions  —  Ike  Turtle  Grows  too  —  Ven 
ison  Disappears  from  among  Men  —  His  Grave,  and  his  Epitaph. 

READER,  I  have  written  for  you  the  history  of  a  year's 
residence  at  Puddleford.  But  the  place  is  changed  now  — 
very  much  changed.  It  is  not  what  it  used  to  be  —  its  peo 
ple,  its  habits  are  very  different.  This  change  was  the  result 
of  a  variety  of  causes.  The  first  thing  that  happened  to  it  — 
a  startling  event  it  was  —  a  railroad  was  built  plump  through 
its  heart.  It  was  a  road  running  a  great  distance,  and  it 
took  Puddleford  in  its  way,  merely  because  it  happened  to 
fall  in  its  line.  I  shall  never  forget  Squire  Longbow's  fren 
zied  excitement  the  first  time  the  locomotive  came  puffing 
and  whistling  in.  He  actually  lost  his  dignity  for  the  mo 
ment.  He  ran  and  wheezed  after  the  steam-horse,  like  a 
madman,  lost  his  green  eye-shade,  and  committed  a  very 
serious  breach  in  the  rear  part  of  his  pantaloons.  He  did 
not  venture  very  near  the  machine  at  first,  but  sheltered 
himself  behind  a  tree,  where  he  could  watch  its  panting  and 
spitting  without  danger. 

I  recollect  how  pompously  the  Squire  talked  on  this  occa 
sion.  He  said  '  all  nater  could  n't  stop  Puddleford  having 
ten  thousand  inhabitants  'fore  'nother  census  —  she'd  be  one 
of  the  or-poriums  (emporiums)  of  the  west  —  it  was  nothing 
on  airth  that  made  Greece  and  Rome,  but  these  great  etarnal 
improvements'  —  and  as  he  was  a  kind  of  oracle  among  a 


THE    RAILROAD,  AND    WHAT    FOLLOWED    IT.  253 

large  class,  he  infused  a  spirit  of  consequence  and  import 
ance  into  those  around  him,  that  was  quite  ludicrous.  Ike 
Turtle,  Sile  Bates,  the  Beagles,  and  Swipes,  and  many  others, 
actually  mounted  their  Sunday-clothes,  and  wore  them  every 
day  —  but  whether  Ike  himself  was  in  fun  or  earnest,  no 
person  could  tell. 

The  building  of  this  road  was  the  cause  of  a  great  change 
certainly  ;  yet  it  changed  not  the  population  itself,  but  sub 
stituted  another  in  its  stead.  It  brought  in  a  class  of  per 
sons  who  had  money,  and  money  is  omnipotent  every  where. 
It  brought  different  habits,  thoughts,  and  feelings.  The 
1  Styles  family '  first  purchased  a  large  farm  near  the  village. 
There  was  an  air  about  them  that  fairly  awed  the  Puddle- 
fordians.  They  were  petted,  run  after,  imitated.  One  could 
hear  nothing  but '  Young  Mr.  Styles,'  '  Old  Mr.  Styles,'  «  The 
elderly  Mrs.  Styles,'  '  Miss  Arabella  Styles,'  '  Miss  Florinda 
Styles.'  Miss  Florinda  and  Arabella  wore  flaring  under 
clothes  in  those  days,  and  this  fashion  fairly  upset  the  heads 
of  the  Puddleford  ladies ;  and  in  less  than  a  month  I  could 
not  identify  half  the  women  of  the  place.  Their  shrunken 
forms  stuffed  with  skirts,  were  about  the  shape  of  little 
pyramids. 

Purchases  of  farms  and  village  property  went  on,  year 
after  year,  until  nearly  every  true  Puddlefordian  was  ousted. 
The  place  has  now,  like  the  snake,  cast  its  skin ;  and  the 
old  pioneers,  they  who  hewed  down  the  forest,  and  'bore  the 
heat  and  burden  of  the  day,'  are  living  around  the  outskirts 
of  the  village,  with  hardly  a  competence,  or  have  emigrated 
to  wilds  still  farther  west. 

Squire  Longbow,  however,  still  holds  his  own.  He  still 
lives  on  the  old  spot  —  is  just  as  wise  and  happy  as  ever. 
Time  has  not  affected  his  intellect,  or  impaired  his  self-con 
sequence,  lie  is  no  longer  justice  of  the  peace,  bnt  in  his 


251  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

place  we  have  a  pert,  dapper,  little  fellow,  who  wears  a  large- 
ring  on  his  little  finger,  and  gives  very  scholastic  opinions. 
The  Squire  professes  to  hold  him  in  contempt,  and  says  he 
'runs  agin  the  staterts  and.  common-law  mor'n  half  the 
time'  —  that  '  he  do  n't  know  a  fiery  factus  from  a  common 
execution '  —  that  *  he  never  looks  inter  the  undying  Story 
for  'thority,  but  goes  on  squashing  papers,  right  strait  agin 
the  constitution  and  the  etarnal  rights  of  man.' 

Aunt  Sonora  was  dissatisfied,  too,  with  the  revolution  in 
society.  She  told  me  the  last  time  I  saw  her,  that  Puddle- 
ford  was  '  made  up  of  a  hull  passel  of  flip-er-ter-^^-its,  and 
she  couldn't  see  what  in  created  natur' the  place  was  a- 
comin'  to  —  she  never  seed  such  works  in  all  her  born  days,' 
that 'the  men  wore  broadcloth,  and  the  women  silks,  and 
flar'd  and  spread  about  like  peacocks.  Nobody  does  nuthin',' 
said  she.  '  The  dear  massy !  They  are  getting  so  hoity- 
toity  !  I  do  wonder  who  pays  ! ' 

Ike  Turtle  is  about  the  only  person  who  has  grown  with 
the  place.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  keeping  him  under. 
He  is  just  as  humorous  as  ever,  but  a  little  more  polished. 
Ike  says  *  it  wo  n't  do  to  let  his  natur'  out  as  he  used  to, 
when  the  bushes  were  thick,  and  Squire  Longbow  was  gov- 
'ner'  —  that  'he  feels  himself  almost  a-bustin'  with  one  of 
his  speeches,  sometimes ;  but  the  folks  would  n't  understand 
him,  if  he  made  it  —  and  as  for  law,  he  'd  gin  it  all  up  —  it 
had  got  to  be  so  nice  and  genteel  an  article,  there  war  n't  a 
grain  of  justis  in  it  —  every  thing  was  peal'd  up,  and  peal'd 
up,  until  5both  parties  themselves  were  peal'd  to  death.'  Ike 
has  turned  his  attention  to  land  and  saw-mills,  and  is  getting 
rich. 

Poor  Venison  Styles !  Dear  old  hunter!  Venison  is  dead, 
and  his  children  are  scattered  in  the  wilderness.  He  was 
found,  one  May  morning,  stretched  out  under  a  large  maple, 


GRAVE    OF    VENISON    STYLES.  255 

his  dog  and  gun  by  his  side,  stiff  and  cold.  The  brown 
threshers  and  blue-birds  were  ringing  merrily  above  him, 
and  the  squirrels  were  chattering  their  nonsense  in  the  dis 
tance.  His  dog  lay  with  his  nose  near  his  master's  face,  his 
fore-paw  upon  his  shoulder.  "How  he  died,  no  one  could 
tell.  He  is  buried  on  a  bluff  that  overlooks  the  river,  and 
I  have  fenced  his  grave  and  erected  a  stone  over  his  remains, 
with  this  inscription  — '  Nature  loved  him,  if  man  did  not.' 


256  PUDDLEFORD   AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 


CONCLUSION. 

The  Philosophy  of  Puddleford  —  Diverse  Elements  in  Pioneer  Lite  — 
Longbow,  and  his  Administration  —  Not  Expensive  —  Two  Hun 
dred  a  Year,  All  Told  — What  would  Chief  Justice  Marshall  have 
Done  as  Justice  at  Puddleford  ?  — Longbow  a  Great  Man  — Fame 
and  Politics  — Ike,  a  Wheel  —  Puddleford  Theology  — Camp-Meet 
ings —  Who  do  Bigelow's  Work  Better  than  Bigelow?  —  Great 
Happiness,  and  Pew  Nerves — No  'Society' —  No  Fashion  in 
Clothes,  or  Any  Thing  Else  —  Bull's-Eye  and  Pinchbeck  —  The 
Great  Trade  didn't  'Come  Off'  —  Abounding  Charity  and  Hospi 
tality —  Pilgrim  Blood  —  Longbow's  —  Planting  the  Mud- Sills — 
Old  Associations,  how  Controlling !  —  Good-Bye,  Eeader. 

READER,  I  cannot  dismiss  Puddleford,  without  adding  a 
Chapter  in  conclusion.  The  pictures  I  have  drawn,  suggest 
to  me  something  more.  There  is  &  philosophy  that  uirdcr- 
lies  the  dignity  of  Longbow,  the  humor  of  Turtle,  the  rough 
sincerity  of  Aunt  Sonora,  the  stormy  and  eccentric  eloquence 
of  Bigelow.  Do  you  not  think  so  ? 

Puddleford  was  like  a  thousand  other  new  settlements. 
It  had  its  green  state  to  pass  through  • —  and  Puddh  ford's* 
pioneers  were  like  other  pioneers  —  rough,  honest,  hardy, 
strong  in  common-sense,  but  weak  in  the  books.  It 
was  not  a  perfect  organization,  packed  beforehand,  with  men 
fitted  to  all  the  stations  of  life,  like  Hooker  and  his  band. 
But  one  pioneer  came  after  another  —  and  notions,  creeds, 
and  prejudices,  were  all  tumbled  in  together.  Puddleford 
prospered,  nevertheless.  Every  man  was  right  upon  the 
question  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  Each  person  brought 
this  law  with  him,  written  on  his  soul ;  and,  however 


SQUIRE   LONGBOW,    AGAIN  257 

clumsily  lie  might  give  it  expression,  the  law  was  there,  and 
he  could  not  rid  himself  of  it  any  more  than  he  could 
throw  off  his  nature.  If  Longbow  administered  the  details 
of  jurisprudence  awkwardly,  Longbow  was,  after  all,  right  in 
leading  principles.  If  Longbow  at  times  trampled  down 
technicalities,  the  community,  on  the  average,  did  not  suffer. 
If  Longbow  even  made  a  little  law  now  and  then,  to  fill  a 
gap,  it  was  well  made,  and  the  gap  well  filled.  Longbow 
might  as  well  have  attempted  to  shave  an  elephant  with  a 
razor  as  to  manage  the  raw  recruits  of  early  Puddleford  with 
subtle  distinctions  ;  and,  besides,  Longbow,  as  the  reader  has 
discovered,  had  no  knowledge  of  that  kind  of  instrument, 
nor  was  it  necessary  that  he  should  have.  Longbow's  legal 
rules  necessarily  ran  on  a  sliding-scale,  and  he  fitted  them  to 
the  case  in  hand,  not  to  eases  in  general. 

The  reader  sees,  then,  a  necessity  for  such  men  as  Long 
bow  in  such  a  community.  If  it  is  impossible  to  find  a  man 
capable  of  preparing  a  technical  set  of  legal  papers,  it  is  im 
portant  to  find  a  man  who  is  incapable  or  unwilling  to  break 
them  down.  No  man  ever  slipped  through  Longbow's  fin 
gers  upon  a  mere  technicality. 

Again,  Longbow's  judicial  duties  were  not  expensive.  An 
expensive  judicial  tribunal  would  have  ruined  Puddleford 
outright.  Puddleford  was  not  only  obliged  to  use  such  tim 
ber  as  it  had  for  public  men,  but  the  timber  must  also  be 
cheap.  Longbow  was  no  mahogany  judge,  polished  and 
wrought  into  scrolls,  though  there  were  a  great  many  lines- 
and  angles  about  him.  He  was  a  plain  piece  of  green-ash, 
strong,  yet  elastic  enough  to  bend  when  justice  demanded. 
He  was  not  an  expensive  article,  and  therefore  the  interest 
the  public  paid  upon  him  was  small.  He  would  sit  all  day, 
amid  the  war  and  tumult  of  contending  litigants,  and  breast 
the  storm  of  insult  that  was  heaped  upon  him,  from  the 


258  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS   PEOPLE. 

right  and  the  left,  for  four  shillings  and  sixpence.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  he  lacked  self-respect  —  no  man  respected 
himself  more  —  but  he  had,  somehow  or  somewhere,  im 
bibed  the  idea  that  pettifoggers  were  entitled  to  great  lati 
tude  of  speech,  and  that  lie  was  paid  for  listening  to  them. 
I  have  seen  the  Squire  many  a  time  passing  through  one  of 
these  conflicts,  when  his  name  was  used  very  irreverently, 
holding  as  solemn  a  face  as  that  worn  by  a  marble  statue  of 
Solon. 

Longbow's  annual  income  amounted  to  about  two  hundred 

S 

dollars  a  year,  and  this  Puddleford  could  *  stand.'  But  he 
had  many  duties  to  perform  outside  of  his  office  of  magis 
trate,  to  insure  him  this  amount.  As  I  have  said  elsewhere, 
he  was  the  grand  Puddleford  umpire,  and,  I  am  very  certain, 
settled  more  difficulties  as  a  man  than  a  magistrate.  School 
and  highway  districts  and  officers  often  got  twisted  in  a 
snarl,  and  Longbow  unravelled  the  knot  —  right  or  wrong 
it  matters  not,  he  put  a  finish  to  the  matter ;  and,  ivhetker 
right  or  wrong,  reader^  what  difference  did  it  make  so  long- 
as  no  one  else  knew  it,  and  every  body  had  confidence  ?  If 
confidence  will  sustain  a  bank,  ought  not  confidence  'to  sus 
tain  Squire  Longbow  ? 

And  then  A.'s  pigs  broke  into  B.'s  garden  —  A.'s  line-fence 
stood  three  feet  on  B.'s  land.  A.  swore  there  was  a  legal, 
lawful  highway  across  B.'s  land ;  B.  swore  it  was  no  such 
tiling  and  he  would  shoot  the  first  man  who  crossed  it.  A. 

&" 

called  B.  a  thief,  and  B.  called  A.  another.  A.  agreed  to 
break  up  for  B,,  but  never  did,  because  B.  refused  to  clear 
his  land.  A.  and  B.  exchanged  horses ;  A.'s  horse  had  the 
heaves,  and  B.'s  was  spavined ;  and  so  on,  trouble  after 
trouble,  how  often  and  many  in  kind  I  cannot  say,  Squire 
Longbow  has  brought  to  a  compromise.  These  were  extra- 


WHAT    IS    GREATNESS  ?  259 

judicial  services,  and  the  two  hundred  dollars  a  year  covered 
all, 

If  it  had  been  possible  to  place  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  or 
even  a  finished  city  lawyer,  in  the  seat  of  Squire  Longbow, 
how  signally  he  must  have  foiled !  He  would  have  been  ut 
terly  incompetent  to  the  task,  and  would  have  burned  his 
books,  and  fled  from  the  settlement  under  cover  of  night. 
Confusion  is  often  the  best  manager  of  confusion.  A  clean, 
clear,  analytical  mind  might  have  flashed  now  and  then,  but 
it  could  never  have  governed  the  storm.  While  our  finished 
lawyer  was  playing  about  a  refined  distinction,  Longbow 
would  bury  all  distinctions  *  ten  fathoms  deep,'*  and  end  all 
controversy  by  repeating  some  old  saying,  and  dismiss  the 
whole  matter  as  summarily  as  the  adjournment  of  a  cause. 

Longbow  was  not  only  a  good  man,  a  cheap  man,  but  he 
was  a  great  man.  Greatness  is  relative,  not  absolute.  I 
hope  my  friends  do  not  intend  to  dispute  the  truth  of  this 
proposition ;  because  I  have  the  documents  to  prove  it,  when 
officially  called  upon  to  do  so.  Great  men  are  like  figures 
on  a  thermometer  —  some  thermometers,  it  is  true,  are  much 
longer,  and  contain  a  great  many  more  figures  than  others. 
The  only  question  any  ambitious  man  cares  to  ask  is,  how 
many  figures  there  are  on  the  scale  above  his.  The  Puddle- 
ford  thermometer  was  very  short,  dear  reader,  and  Longbow's 
figure  was  the  highest.  Is  not  this  fame  ?  Puddleford  fame, 
say  you  ?  Puddleford  fame,  indeed  !  It  will  outlast,  I  will 
wager  my  old  hat,  the  fame  of  nine  tenths  of  the  members 
of  Congress,  who  have  for  the  last  ten  years  blown  them 
selves  hoarse  making  speeches  to  their  outraged  and  indig 
nant  constituency.  Why,  Longbow's  name  will  be  remem 
bered  in  Puddleford  years  after  his  death ;  and  how  many 
names  can  you  repeat  of  those  who  strutted  through  the  last 
Congress,  or  ho\v  many  of  the  members  for  your  own  district 


260  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

for  the  last  thirty  years  ?  Fame,  indeed !  But  I  do  not  wish 
to  quarrel  about  so  fleeting  a  thing  as  fame,  and  I  will,  there 
fore,  dismiss  that  subject. 

The  politics  of  Puddleford  were  a  little  ridiculous ;  but 
Turtle's  political  fun  was  used  by  him  as  a  means  to  carry 
out  an  end.  Turtle's  patriotism  and  Turtle's  principles  were 
beyond  suspicion.  Reader,  there  is  no  spot  of  American  soil 
more  truly  patriotic  than  Puddleford.  There  are  no  great 
depositories  —  no  central  heart  —  in  this  country,  from  which 
American  principles  flow ;  every  man  is  a  centre  — '  a  law 
unto  himself.'  Ike  Turtle  was  a  centre.  He  was  a  kind  of 
political  wheel ;  ran  on  his  own  axis ;  borrowed  no  propel 
ling  power  from  abroad,  but  kept  himself  whirling  with  the 
spirit  of  '76,  of  which  he  had  always  a  large  supply  on  hand. 
He  reminded  me  of  a  fire-wheel,  used  on  celebration  days, 
he  cast  off  so  many  colored  lights  ;  now  he  whizzed ;  then 
he  banged;  now  he  shot  forth  stars;  then  spears  of  flame; 
but  he  was  still  a  wheel,  and  always  set  himself  in  motion  to 
some  purpose. 

What  shall  I  say  of  the  theology  of  Puddleford  ?  I  have 
already  alluded  to  it  in  the  pages  of  this  work.  Permit  me 
to  say  more.  Creeds  travel  with  men  wherever  they  go. 
Creeds  often  colonize  the  wilderness  ;  they  have  nerved  more 
hearts,  stirred  and  sustained  more  souls,  scattered  more  civi 
lization,  than  any  or  all  other  agents.  But  Puddleford  was 
not  settled  by  any  particular  idea,  civil  or  religious ;  yet  the 
Puddlefordians  brought  with  them  a  great  many  ideas,  both 
civil  and  religious.  They  were,  however,  incidental,  not  pri 
mary.  The  religious  exercises  of  the  country  were  like  its 
people,  ardent,  strong,  fiery,  and  often  tempestuous.  Bige- 
low  Van  Slyck  was  an  embodiment  of  Puddleford  theology. 
He  did  not  argue  doctrine,  for  two  reasons :  he  did  not 
know  how,  and  he  would  not  if  he  could ;  but,  to  use  hia 


rUDDLEFORD    RELIGION.  261 

own  language,  '  he  took  sin  by  the  horns,  and  held  it  by 
main  force.' 

A  quiet  religion  with  a  Puddlefordian  was  synonomous 
with  no  religion.  Religion  with  him  was  something  to  be 
seen,  to  touch,  to  handle.  Puddleford  religion  was  often 
very  noisy,  and  it  manifested  itself  in  many  ways.  We  used 
to  have  an  outburst  at  camp-meeting,  which  was  held  once 
in  each  year  by  the  prevailing  sect  in  the  country.  A  camp- 
meeting  !  The  reader  has  attended  a  camp-meeting,  I  know ; 
but  we  had  the  genuine  kind.  Puddleford  was  depopulated 
on  such  occasions;  and  its  inhabitants,  supplied  with  the  ne 
cessaries  of  life  and  a  tent,  went  forth  into  the  wilderness  to 
give  a  high  tone  to  their  piety.  They  wanted  air,  and  space, 
and  time.  All  this  was  characteristic,  and  was  like  the  peo 
ple.  What  would  they  have  done  inside  a  temple  of  spring- 
ino-  arches  and  fretted  dome  —  of  statues,  looking  coldly 

O 

down  from  their  niches  —  of  pictured  saints  —  where  organ 
anthems  rolled  and  trembled  ?  What  to  them  were  the  re 
finements  of  religious  exercises  ?  The  wild  wood  was  their 
'  temple  not  made  with  hands,'  columned,  and  curtained,  and 
festooned,  and  lit  up  by  the  sun  at  day,  and  the  stars  at 
night ;  and  here,  in  this  temple,  day  after  day,  the  people 
camped ;  in  the  more  immediate  presence  of  the  Most  High 
built  their  watch-fires,  that  sent  up  long  streams  of  smoke 
over  the  green  canopy  that  sheltered  them,  and  knelt  down 
to  pray. 

The  theology  of  Puddleford  was  brought  out  in  strong  re 
lief  at  these  meetings.  They  were  business  gatherings.  The 
trials  and  crosses  of  every  member  were  freely  canvassed,  and 
consolation  administered.  The  'inner  life'  of  each  indiyid- 
ual  was  thoroughly  dissected  —  the  spiritual  condition  of  the 
vineyard  in  general  carefully  examined ;  sermons  preached 
strong  enough,  both  in  voice  and  expression,  to  raise  the 


2G2  PUDDLEFORD   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

dead ;  money  was  collected  for  benevolent  purpose',  *id 
many  more  duties  performed,  which  I  cannot  stop  to  men 
tion. 

The  reader  sees  that  these  men  and  women  were  laying 
the  foundation-timbers  of  many  sects  that  must  follow  them 
—  follow  them  with  their  houses  of  worship,  their  intelli 
gence,  their  refinement,  and,  I  may  say,  their  theological  ab 
stractions,  their  shadows,  and  shades,  and  points  of  distinc 
tion.  Who  is  there  that  could  do  Bigelow's  work  better 
than  he  ?  Who  is  there  that  will  ever  toil  and  sweat  more 
hours  in  his  Master's  vineyard  ?  And  to  whom  will  the  pos 
terity  of  Puddleford  be  more  indebted  ? 

But,  to  drop  the  leading  characters  of  Puddleford,  let  us 
go  down  a  while  among  the  rank  and  file ;  let  us  examine 
their  condition.  And  here  I  may  get  into  trouble.  Com 
parisons  are  said  to  be  odious.  I  do  not  know  who  said  it, 
nor  do  I  care  ;  the  motive  which  one  has  in  view  must  de 
termine  the  truth  of  the  remark.  There  was  a  vast  deal  of 
happiness  in  Puddleford.  I  do  not  now  remember  one  ner 
vous  woman  in  the  place.  Think  of  that.  If  refinement 
brings  its  joys,  it  often  covers  a  delicate,  sensitive  nature ; 
but  there  was  nobody  delicate  or  sensitive  at  Puddleford ; 
nobody  went  into  fits  because  a  rat  crossed  the  floor,  or  a 
spider  swung  itself  down  in  their  way.  The  evening  air  was 
never  too  damp,  nor  the  morning  sun  too  oppressive.  Labor 
made  the  people  hardy,  and  an  over-taxed  brain  hatched  no 
bugbears.  I  verily  believe  the  nightmare  was  never  known. 
There  were  no  persons  tired  of  time  —  not  that  they  had  so 
much  to  do  —  but  they  were  all  contented  with  time  and 
things  as  they  were. 

You  have  discovered  that  there  was  no  society  in  Puddle- 
ford  ;  and  when  I  say  SOCIETY,  I  do  not  mean  that  there 
was  no  social  intercourse,  but  society  organized  and  governed 


OTHER   BLESSINGS.  263 

by  rules  and  regulations.  Here  was  another  blessing.  Aunt 
Sonora  never  got  into  hysterics  because  Mrs.  Beagles  had 
not  called  on  her  for  three  weeks.  Aunt  Sonora  would  say, 
that  '  Mrs.  Beagles  might  stay  to  hum  as  long  as  she  was  a 
min-ter.'  Aunt  Sonora  never  worked  herself  up  into  a  frus 
tration  because  her  gingerbread  did  n't  rise  when  Squire 
Longbow  took  tea  with  her;  but  she  just  told  the  Squire, 
'  he  'd  got-ter  go  it  heavy,  or  go  without,'  And  then  Aunt 
Sonora  was  under  no  obligation  to  make  fashionable  calls ; 
she  was  not  a  fashionable  lady ;  there  was  no  fashion  to  call 
on.  She  did  not  go  around  and  throw  in  a  little  very  cold 
respect  into  her  neighbor's  parlor,  because  there  were  no 
parlors  in  Puddleford,  and  Aunt  Sonora  couldn't  for. the  life 
of  her  do  a  formal  thing  if  there  had  been.  If  she  wanted 
to  'blow  out  agin'  any  one,'  to  use  her  language,  why,  she 
blew  out,  and  in  their  faces,  too,  because  the  rules  of  her  so 
ciety  had  not  taught  her  hypocrisy. 

There  was  another  blessing:  Puddlefordians  were  not 
continually  tempted  to  covet  some  new  thing  of  their  neigh 
bors.  A  new  bonnet  now  and  then  raised  a  breeze ;  but  no 
one  was  under  any  obligation  to  purchase  a  similar  one.  In 
other  words,  the  laws  of  society  did  not  dictate  what  one 
should  wear.  Aunt  Sonora  had  worn  her  old  plaid  cloak 
for  twenty  years,  and  yet  remained  in  society.  Mrs.  Bea 
gles'  '  Leghorn,'  which  looked  something  like  a  corn-fan,  and 
came  into  the  country  with  her,  was  orthodox.  Turtle  had 
a  pair  of  breeches,  old  enough  in  all  conscience,  the  legs  cut 
off  above  the  knees,  and  turned,  as  he  said,  *  hind  side  afore, 
to  hide  the  holes  in  front,'  which  pettifogged  as  well  as  when 
they  were  new.  Squire  Longbow  wore  the  same  clouded- 
blue  stockings  that  he  did  when  first  elected  magistrate ;  but 
Mrs.  Longbow  had  ravelled  them  up  several  times,  and 
'  footed  thorn  over.'  I  dislike,  reader,  to  go  into  particulars, 


264  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

and  thus  expose  the  wardrobe  of  the  Puddlefordians,  but  I 
cannot  express  myself  clearly  on  so  important  a  point  in  any 
other  way ;  and  I  promised  at  the  commencement  of  this 
sketch  to  make  it  philosophical. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  reader  will  look  on  the  blessings 
which  I  have  just  enumerated.  He  may  be  a  leader  of  fash 
ion  ;  the  shade  and  tie  of  his  neck-cloth  may  be  as  weighty 
and  important  a  matter  with  him  as  his  reputation,  lie  may 
be  one  of  those  who  religiously  believe  that  a  man,  at  a 
party,  without  a  white  vest,  is  no  gentleman,  and  ought  forth 
with  to  be  kicked,  in  a  genteel  way,  headlong  into  the  street. 
He  may  think  it  vulgar  to  laugh,  and  that  no  smile  but  a 
fashionable  smile  should  be  tolerated.  He  may,  I  say  — 

and  may  think  me  an .  But  just  pause  a  moment.  I 

am  only  writing  the  history  of  Puddleford,  my  friend  ;  and, 
besides,  just  sit  down  coolly,  and  think  of  the  luxury  there 
must  be  in  sojourning  at  a  place  where  one  can  wear  his  old 
clothes  year  in  and  year  out,  preserve  public  respect,  and  cut 
and  turn  his  breeches  at  that ! 

The  household  furniture  of  the  Puddlefordians  was  always 
in  fashion :  in  fact,  there  was  a  remarkable  uniformity  in 
this  respect  in  all  the  cabins  in  the  settlement.  The  white- 
wood  table,  wooden  chairs,  the  dozen  cups  and  saucers,  the 
cook-stove  and  its  furniture,  bed  and  bedding,  comprised  the 
stock  of  nearly  every  family.  Turtle  often  said  that  the  peo 
ple  '  did  n't  have  as  much  furniter  as  the  law  allow'd  'em, 
and  the  State  had  got-ter  make  it  up.'  It  is  discovered  that 
this  equality  was  productive  of  beneficial  results.  It  was  not 
possible  for  one  Puddlefordian  to  envy  another  Puddleford- 
ian.  There  was  no  fancy  hundred-dollar  rocking-cha*ir  ex 
hibited  to  throw  any  one  into  spasms ;  there  were  no  pianos 
bewitching  the  souls  and  purses  of  the  community.  (Reader, 
/have  no  spite  against  pianos.)  Why,  in  short,  there  was 


ALMOST    A    BARGAIN  265 

not  any  thing  there  that  was  not  there  when  the  pioneers 
first  planted  themselves  on  the  soil.  I  recollect  that  Sile 
Bates  owned  a  pinch-beck  watch,  and  Squire  Longbow  was 
the  proprietor  of  a  «  bull's-eye,'  and  they  were  both  wonders. 
The  Squire  and  Sile  once  attempted  an  exchange  of  these 
articles,  and  the  transaction  was  so  momentous  that  all  Pud- 
dleford  was  kept  in  excitement  for  three  weeks.  The  bar 
gain  was  as  important  and  solemn  as  a  treaty  between  two 
high  contracting  powers.  There  was  one  point  in  the  trade 
that  was  positively  exciting.  Sile  had  offered  five  dollars  to 
boot,  payable  in  saw-logs,  (no  person  paid  money  at  Puddle- 
ford,  unless  by  special  agreement, '  'fore  witness,')  and  here  the 
parties  '  hung  fire '  for  several  days.  Turtle  said,  the  Squire 
'orter  to  strike ; '  Beagles  said,  '  he  'd  get  skin'd  if  he  did ; ' 
Bulliphant  said,  '  the  pinch-beck  was  worn  out ; '  Aunt  So- 
nora  said,  her  husband  '  telPd  her,  that  a  man  telPd  him, 
that  he  know'd  Longbow's  bull's-eye  forty  years  afore,  and 
it  could  scase  tick  then ; '  and  much  more  was  said ;  but, 
alas!  the  trade,  to  use  Ike's  language,  'fizzled  out,'  and  Pud- 
dleford  settled  down  again  into  its  usual  tranquillity. 

The  philosophy  of  this  attempted  bargain  is  clear  enough. 
There  was  nothing  in  Puddleford  to  excite  envy.  What 
there  was,  was  old ;  no  new  thing  was  thrown  in  to  tanta 
lize.  Longbow,  it  is  true,  once  ventured  upon  a  carpet,  but, 
us  he  was  a  magistrate,  the  enterprise  was  deemed  very  pro 
per.  Do  you  not  agree  with  me,  that  Puddleford  had  its 
blessings  ?  Does  not  poverty  often  '  bring  healing  on  its 
wings  ? '  How  many  are  there  in  the  world  that  would 
gladly  flee  from  the  chains  of  society,  even  to  Puddleford, 
willing  to  fling  themselves  in  some  just  such  by-place  of  the 
world,  where  they  could  sit  down  perfectly  independent,  and 
take  '  their  own  ease  in  their  own  inn ? '  How  many,  reader? 

I  must  not  forget  the  chanty  of  the  Puddlefordians.    Cha- 
12 


266  PUDDLEFORD    AND    ITS    PEOPLE. 

rity  and  hospitality  are  distinguishing-  characteristics  of  west 
ern  people.  However  violent  feuds  might  rage,  suffering  and 
want  were  relieved,  so  far  as  there  was  an  ability  to  do  it.  I 
have  seen  another  kind  of  charity,  a  fashionable  article,  used 
according  to  the  laws  of  etiquette,  and  not  according  to  the 
laws  of  heartfelt  sympathy.  I  do  not  know  that  any  person 
was  ever  neglected  in  Puddleford  because  he  or  she  did  not  be 
long  to  a  particular  church.  Mrs.  A.  never  refused  to  assist 
Mrs.  B.  in  sickness,  because  she  and  Mrs.  B.  did  not  visit,  or 
because  she  did  not  know  Mrs.  B.  (That  word,  do  n't  lknowj 
in  finished  society,  simply  means,  reader,  that  the  person 
holds  no  intercourse.)  But  every  body  did  know  every  body 
in  Puddleford ;  and  when  one  of  the  number  was  stricken 
down  by  affliction,  the  remainder  all  '  turned  in,'  and  *  put 
their  shoulders  to  the  wheel.'  Why,  bless  you,  reader,  you 
ought  to  witness  an  eruption  of  Puddleford  sympathy.  You 
ought  to  see  Aunt  Sonora,  with  her  apron  loaded  with  bone- 
set,  sage,  and  a  pail  filled  with  gruel,  hurrying  along  *  for 
dear  life,'  to  relieve  the  distressed  —  Mrs.  Swipes,  with  a  lit 
tle  mustard,  or  a  bit  of'jel;'  Mrs.  Beagles,  Aunt  Graves, 
and  Sister  Abigail,  with  something  else.  Is  not  this  some 
thing  ? 

I  must,  however,  draw  my  '  Conclusion r  to  a  close.  Per 
mit  me  to  do  it  gradually,  as  I  have  a  word  or  two  more  to 
say,  and  I  may  never  have  another  opportunity.  The  reader 
has,  by  this  time,  become  quite  intimate  with  the  leading 
characters  of  Puddleford,  and  says,  perhaps,  'A  queer  com 
pound.'  But  do  you  know,  reader,  that  Longbow,  and  Tur 
tle,  snd  I  do  not  know  how  many  more,  trace  their  blood 
directly  back  to  the  Pilgrims  ?  It  is  *  as  true  as  fate.'  And 
how  they  have  become  so  metamorphosed  is  the  question. 
Puddleford  stock  was,  much  of  it,  Puritan  stock.  Those  old 
stalwart  heroes,  whose  hearts  were  a  living  coal ;  whose  wills, 


PILGRIM    BLOOD   ON   A    PILGRIMAGE.  267 

granite ;  whose  home,  Heaven ;  who  '  walked  by  faith,  not. 
by  sight ; '  before  Avhose  eyes  moved  *  the  cloud  by  day,  and 
pillar  of  fire  by  night ; '  who  heard  voices  all  around  them, 
such  as  haunted  John  on  the  Isle  of  Patmos,  are  the  proge 
nitors  of  Longbow  and  Turtle.  What  a  country  is  this  of 
ours,  to  have  worked  such  results ! 

But  I  learned,  upon  inquiry,  that  Longbow's  blood  had 
experienced  a  very  serious  pilgrimage  since  its  departure 
from  its  New-England  head.  It  had  been  mixed  with  Irish, 
and  Scotch,  and  English,  and  German.  In  reality,  the  Squire 
was  a  kind  of  *  compound  '  of  all  nation*,  as  most  Americans 
are.  If  it  were  possible  to  introduce  Captain  Standish,  the 
military  hero  of  1620,  or  Bradford,  or  Winslow,  to  Squire 
Longbow,  they  would  look  as  wildly  at  him  as  the  boys  did 
at  poor  Rip  Van  Winkle  after  his  long  sleep  on  the  mount 
ain.  I  am  sure  they  would  not  be  able  to  detect  any  resem 
blance  to  the  Mayflower.  They  would  find  the  Squire  a 
little  the  worse  for  wear  —  ignorant  in  spiritual  matters  — 
discover  that  his  psalm-book  was  lost,  and  he  as  blind  as  a 
beetle  in  the  New-England  Catechism.  But,  after  all,  if  they 
probed  him  deep,  they  would  strike  much,  very  much,  of  the 
old  stuff,  living  and  burning  yet. 

The  Squire's  Pilgrim-blood,  too,  had  filled  nearly  all  occu 
pations  in  life.  It  had  been  a  sailor  —  the  master  of  a  ves 
sel  —  a  merchant  —  fought  in  the  Revolution  —  a  preacher 
once,  and  once  a  lawyer.  These  facts  I  procured  from  the 
Squire,  for  my  special  use,  and  they  may  be  relied  upon  — 
and  now  that  same  blood  was  doing  service  at  Puddleford 
as  a  magistrate.  Whether  blood  changes  occupation,  or  oc 
cupation  blood,  is  a  physiological  question  that  I  do  not  in 
tend  to  debate.  But  that  one  can  be  surprised  at  any  exhi 
bition  of  American  character,  after  looking  into  the  crosses 
and  counter-crosses  of  blood,  is  marvellous. 


268  PUDDLEFORD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 

Here  is  a  sample  of  Puddleford  blood,  and  such  is  the 
blood  of  many  western  pioneers.  How  much  the  world 
is  indebted  to  the  pioneer  !  He  lays  the  foundation,  let 
build  who  may.  I  regret  the  necessity  of  perpetrating  a 
ridiculous  figure,  but  I  cannot  help  it :  he  plants  deep  the 
mud- sills  of  empire,  amid  toil,  and  sweat,  and  groans,  pover 
ty  and  disease.  The  superstructure  is  always  reared  by 
other  hands.  The  columns  and  capitals  are  the  product  of 
wealth  and  taste.  How  few  of  them  reap  the  harvest,  their 
cabins,  now  standing  deserted  and  silent,  and  strewn  thou 
sands  of  miles  over  the  west  and  north-west,  abundantly 
testify. 

The  pioneer  severs  all  connection  between  himself  and  the 
past  when  he  enters  upon  his  work.  I  have  already  remarked 
that  Puddleford  had  no  past.  He  breaks  all  local  ties,  and 
snaps  in  twain  the  golden  threads  that  link  him  to  his  home. 
The  caravan  that  winds  away  from  the  old  hearth-stone, 
where  the  first  kiss  was  imprinted,  the  first  prayer  offered, 
where  the  winter-cricket  sang  as  the  tempest  roared  without, 
and  devotes  itself  to  a  wilderness,  leaves  behind  what  can 
never  be  found  again.  The  bare-footed  striplings  who  gam 
bol  with  it  —  the  immortal  seed  to  be  sown,  and  to  sow  — 
from  whose  loins  giants  in  thought,  word,  and  action,  will 
spring  —  *  may  forget,'  and  themselves  become  new  centres 
of  new  associations  —  but  men  and  women  never. 

What  constitutes  a  man  1  —  a  nation  ?  Inhabita;  ,ts  only ) 
The  songs  of  a  people  stir  them  up  to  revolution  —  and  what 
are  they  but  the  glowing  language  of  the  associations  of  the 
soul  ?  What  is  Bannockburn  to  a  savage  ?  A  plain,  over 
which  the  winds  blow  and  the  thistles  gather.  What  to  a 
Scotchman  ?  A  living,  breathing  host !  What  to  the  pio 
neer  is  the  memory  of  that  church-steeple,  that  flung  its  long 
shadow  over  his  boyhood,  around  whose  vane  the  swallows 


FAREWELL  269 

whirled,  and  the  evening  sun  lingered?  —  that  bell  that 
swung  high  therein  ?  —  the  torrent  that  roared  through  his 
early  years,  and  wove  its  music  into  his  very  being  ?  —  the 
lone  clift',  where  the  cloud  slept  and  the  eagle  rested  ?  These 
all  are  a  part  of  the  man  himself;  and  when  he  is  torn  from 
them,  his  very  nature  receives  a  shock,  and  he  has  lost,  he 
hardly  knows  how  or  where,  a  portion  of  his  very  existence. 
Reader,  you  and  I  must  part.  How  I  ever  happened  to 
write  the  history  of  Puddleford  is  more  than  I  can  say.  I 
have  more  than  once  been  frightened  at  my  impudence.  In 
all  probability  you  will  never  hear  of  me  again  in  print  — 
and,  before  we  separate,  reach  me  your  hand  —  (if  it  is  a 
lady's,  it  is  all  the  better)  — '  Good-by  to  you,  my  friend ; J 
and  if  you  should  stray  into  Puddleford,  I  will  set  apart  an 
hour,  and  give  you  an  introduction  to  Squire  Longbow  —  an 
honor  to  which,  I  am  very  sure,  you  cannot  be  insensible  or 
indifferent. 


THE      END 


< 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT 


* 


Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall 


MOV  1 9  1356 


OCT25T8 


LD  21-100TO-6,'56 
(B9311S10)476 


.General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


LIBRARIES 


833307 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


